


On Dragon's Wings

by Star_dancer54



Category: Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragonriders of Pern, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Darker than the books, Kinda graphic animal death, M/M, Multi, Post-Season/Series 03, Sam Winchester gets a queen because he is the queen, Wincest - Freeform, breakin' the rules, cliffhanger ending, gender role non-conformity, passing mention of an OC getting raped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-16
Updated: 2011-09-16
Packaged: 2019-03-01 22:38:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13304802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_dancer54/pseuds/Star_dancer54
Summary: A part of him that he never wanted to admit to was envious of the bond between the rider and dragon. The thought was bordering on blasphemous, but before Impression Dean had focused all of his attention onSam, and he craved that focus more than he would care to acknowledge...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some familiarity with the Dragonriders of Pern series by Anne McCaffrey definitely helps but I tried to make it as easy to follow as possible. For those not familiar with it, the last chapter should cover what might be useful, so if you wanna check that out first go forth. If there are any questions, feel free to ask 'em or check out the Dragonriders of Pern Wiki at pern.wikia.com
> 
> And as a final note, I don't think I had this betaed when I first wrote it and I'm looking over it in 2018 checking for any glaring mistakes. If you see something, let me know.
> 
> Fuckin' FINALLY on to the story.

Present Pass, 14th Year, Benden Weyr

Sam Winchester's older brother Dean was a bronze dragonrider. His Soranth was graceful and beautiful and it had been three turns since Sam had gotten to see his beloved brother. To be in Dean's wing, at his side was Sam's greatest wish. When they were growing up together in Benden Hold, they were inseparable, even with four turns separating them in age. At eighteen turns and with nearly four of those spent in hold then hall while his brother was in weyr, Sam missed their closeness. A part of him that he never wanted to admit to was envious of the bond between the rider and dragon. The thought was bordering on blasphemous, but before Impression Dean had focused all of his attention on _Sam_ , and he craved that focus more than he would care to acknowledge. However, that devotion would never be his again, for Soranth was Dean's other half now. Sam would just have to grow accustomed to sharing his brother's attention. Sam's own dragon, for he was certain he would Impress, would help ease that still-strong feeling of loss.

But what if... Well, if he wasn't able to Impress this time, there would be another. Perhaps he could stay in the weyr rather than returning to the Vintner Hall, as the smell of wine was beginning to make him feel quite ill. He was willing to do just about anything to get in touch with his brother, especially now that he had an excellent reason to be in the weyr.

The Hatching Ground floor was hot, nearly too hot for most of the candidates, but Sam soaked in the heat of the sands like a dragon himself. He tried to use it to distract himself, as the humming of the dragons was giving him an ache in his head and bones. The other boys around him seemed not to notice, so focused were they on the hot sands and the rocking clutch of eggs. He could barely hear the noise of the girls standing by the golden egg, but that was all right. It wasn't as if he was going to be Impressing the little queen that would emerge, for although a girl had Impressed a little green dragon at the same hatching that Dean had Impressed, a queen dragonet had never so much as sniffed at a boy. He was going to Impress a bronze or a brown, he just knew it. Even if he didn't, there were still greens and blues that could become his weyrmate. And then he could fly with his brother, and they-

The humming stopped and eggs started hatching as if they had been waiting for the silence. Eggs broke apart and dragonets cried and screeched and started roughly looking for their partners. Boys and dragonets paired off and as suddenly as it started it was over. Sam had not Impressed. He couldn't understand what had gone wrong. He had done as the others had, gently touching and petting the hardening eggs as the weyrling's master directed... But perhaps he just wasn't good enough. After all, he had admired the golden queen's egg more than he had the mottled, other eggs when he should have focused all of his attention on them. It was just that it was so beautiful, certainly a light caress of the smooth shell shouldn't have hurt anything?

Ashamed and feeling rather guilty, Sam did not search for his brother's eyes in the throng of bronze riders waiting for the golden egg to crack. He started moving towards the adult blue dragons that awaited those that had been rejected and before he had gotten further than a few steps he heard the humming of the dragons intensify and change to crooning. He paused and turned, trying to stifle the envious little part of him that grumbled about the girls still having their chance. It didn't matter that only one of them would Impress; each had the same hope that she would be the one to Impress the little queen. He had a good view as the golden egg cracked and then broke apart until the girls closed ranks around the egg. Even though one of the blue riders was gesturing for him to hurry, Sam stayed where he was to watch the Impression.

The little queen shrieked and the girls started stepping backward, allowing Sam to see the little golden beauty. She was turning around and searching the faces of the girls for the one that was _hers_ , but could not seem to find her weyrmate. She screamed with fury and clawed desperately at the girls, and when none of them were what she had hoped for she cried again, this time a sound of utter desolation. Sam saw her push through the girls, setting out across the sands towards... no one knew where. The great golden queen Ramoth trumpeted and blocked the hatchling's path with a foreleg, and the little dragonet screamed in fury at her mother but turned and headed in another direction, her newborn legs weak but her will strong. She was heading towards Sam and the other three rejected boys who had paused to watch.

Before she reached them she collapsed, whining piteously. Sam felt his heart tug in sorrow for the little creature, but what she was looking for would not be over with the boys. Her claws tangled with her wings as she struggled to get up, causing her to scream in pain and fear and sadness, and Sam couldn't watch her suffering any more. He turned to join the blue rider at the edge of the Hatching Ground but her screams grew louder with panic and he spun back to see she was _struggling towards him_.

He didn't understand. He looked around to see if there was a girl nearby, perhaps in the stands closest to where he was, but there were only older dragonriders and a few craftsmen sitting so close to the heat of the sands. Did she want _Sam_? Why would she want a _boy_? Certainly there were more appropriate candidates on the other side of the grounds, still by her shell. However, when her noises became quieter and more piteous he could hesitate no longer. Sam approached the wailing queen and carefully pulled her claws free of one nearly-rent wing. “You silly creature,” he told her, “why are you wanting a _boy_?”

Her eyes locked with his and he was lost in them. They lost their furious whirling orange color and settled on a deep, beautiful blue. As if there were locks within his mind that he had been unaware of, things started to click into place. Her mind touched his and he knew that life would never, _could_ never be the same again.

Of course she wanted him, for she, of course, wanted the best. He was the best and he was wise and beautiful and kind and everything that an excellent weyrmate should be. Why should Diaranth choose someone who was not good enough for her? Anyone else would not be as special, as perfect as Sam was.

Sam felt tears come to his eyes and he went to his knees before the proud little queen. In this position she was quite a bit taller than he was. He gazed up into her faceted eyes and whispered, “Your name is Diaranth?”

_Of course. What else would it be?_

As Sam communicated with his little queen for the first time, he did not notice the dead silence in the Hatching Grounds. Nor did he notice Lessa herself ordering the dragonriders in the stands to escort the spectators out of the enormous cavern. The Weyrwoman of Benden's approach was nothing compared to the utter bliss of Diaranth.

A small hand shook his shoulder to get his attention. “Come with me,” said a voice that was not Diaranth. Sam blinked and looked away from his queen's hypnotizing eyes. He realized that Lessa was standing over him, looking quite childlike next to her Weyrleader. F'lar smiled at Sam, but it didn't reach his eyes. Lessa looked outraged and confused. Sam stood and followed them out of the Hatching Grounds, just managing to catch the large bowl of meat that the weyrling's master handed him before herding his charges out of the Grounds as well.

Sam started to wonder if he'd some something unforgivably wrong. They couldn't take Diaranth away from him because he was a boy, could they? Did he break some terrible rule for approaching a queen's egg? No one had been paying attention to him when he touched the egg, not even Ramoth. Would they exile him? He was afraid.

_No one shall take you from me. What has been done, is done._

Diaranth's words didn't go far in soothing him.

 ______

 

Five sevendays later...

It was, Sam decided with some frustration as he oiled Diaranth's flank with more patience than he actually had at the moment, utterly ridiculous that as soon as his dragon started her growth spurt he began to grow at a near equal speed. As poor Diaranth was growing out of her own hide, Sam's own muscles were having problems keeping up with the speed of his bones' growth. In that achy, unhappy moment he rather envied the girls that smoothly reached their adult heights at about sixteen turns. Of course he would be unfortunate enough that he would just be _starting_ to grow at sixteen, then stop for a few turns, only to start back up again at nearly nineteen turns of age. This time the growing pains were much worse, and of course whenever he was in pain, his beautiful Diaranth would suffer as well. With her own aches and itches of stretched hide added to his, their pain and displeasure combined until they were both impossible to be around. They were both pitiful bundles of growth and pain. _Sleepless_ bundles, at that, for they both would wake up at night when Sam's growing pains wracked both their bodies.

What was worse, though, Sam thought as he gave Diaranth a pat and moved on to her other side, was that he'd not seen his brother once since Impressing Diaranth. He'd thought that since he'd managed to Impress a dragon he would be seeing more of his brother, if only in passing. But apparently it was unsightly for a _male_ queen dragonrider to be seen out and about in the weyr. No one had actually said that to Sam, but he still had a very strong feeling that he was an embarrassment. Add that to his frayed temper from growing and perhaps it was a good thing that Dean wasn't around to tease him. Dean's growth from boyhood to adulthood was a much smoother transition than Sam's, though he did remember several nights where Dean would drink mass quantities of wine to numb his discomfort. If Sam didn't have such a distaste for wine of any sort, even the smooth Benden wine, he would probably become a sot just to stifle his own pain. Of course, that would be another black mark for him in the weyr's books. He would then be not only a male on a queen dragon but a drunken, useless wastrel until the growing pains ended.

 _I itch_ the golden dragonet complained. Sam murmured soothingly to her and rubbed the oil into her flaky hide with more assurance. Diaranth sighed with pleasure and nudged her weyrmate with her muzzle. _Why are you worried about this? You are my rider, and I am your dragon. We are who we are. Why should we want to be what we are not?_

Sam sighed and rested his forehead against her shoulder, closing his eyes against the whirling colors in Diaranth's faceted eyes. They were changing from the deep blue of contentment to a purple that spoke of confusion and faint worry. “It's not proper that I am a male riding a female dragon.”

_Most greens are ridden by males. What difference does that make?_

“You, my lovely one, are not a green. You are a beautiful golden queen, and never in all the turns of dragons and their riders has there ever been a male riding a queen.” The dragon snorted at the green comment, then nudged Sam's arm.

_We are who we are and are no other. I would not partner with any other rider._

Sam set the jar of oil down and hugged Diaranth's delicately-shaped muzzle. “Nor would I wish to ride any other dragon. That does not change the fact, however, that we are strange and get stared at and mocked by others.”

_Others do not matter. What matters is us._

“How right you are, my love, how right you are.” Sam stroked the ridges above Diaranth's eyes and kissed between the space between them. His lips burned faintly from the already-oiled hide. “I just wish that that was more accepted inside and out of the weyr.” His thoughts turned morose again, and he moved from her muzzle to continue oiling her shoulder. “Perhaps that is why Dean avoids me. He is ashamed to be my brother for my having Impressed you.”

 _I am wonderful. He should be proud of you for having me_.

Sam laughed and thumped her side affectionately. “If only, dear one.” Perhaps, after he and Diaranth flew in the flame thrower crews during Threadfall Dean would see how well they worked together. Then he would speak with Sam, if only to congratulate him on a Fall well flown. Certainly Dean would acknowledge Sam after such an event. That was some time away though, as Diaranth's shoulder was only just now taller than himself. She had some way to go before she reached her adult size.

Sam would just have to be patient. The weyr wasn't that big, and there would be a Threadfall in a sevenday. Even though he didn't have that much in the way of experience, Sam would make sure to be on the healer's crew to help slather numbweed and bandage scored dragons and riders. The healers and weyrfolk would need all the help they could get after a fall. Of course he didn't will anything to happen to his dear brother, but it was not uncommon for either dragons or their riders to not quite manage to avoid getting scored by the deadly Thread. Even if they immediately went _between_ with alacrity, it was far too easy for damage to occur. Especially among the less experienced riders.

Dean had, after all, only had about a turn out with the wings. While it would take some time before Dean would start to rise in the ranks, Sam had no doubt that he would gain the experience and discipline needed to be at the very least a wing second. His brother was a good man, even if he was young, and it would only be a matter of time before he gained the position he rightly deserved.

It was then that a dreadful thought came to Sam's mind. Dean was a bronze rider. This meant that his Soranth would some day, probably sooner rather than later, fly a queen, and Dean might be paired with some queen rider, and -

Diaranth let out a soft whistle of concern at the sudden bombardment of emotions. The idea of Dean with a woman, possibly falling in love with her (because of course he would fall in love with her, of _course_ he would), made Sam feel sick to his stomach with dread and fear. Then another horrible thought occurred to him, and Sam leaned against Diaranth's side from a sudden dizzy spell.

Diaranth would rise to mate some day, too. Sam stifled a retch at the thought of one bronze or another flying Diaranth, and the mating frenzy that would take place both in the air and in Sam's weyr. He didn't want any of the bronze riders to _touch_ him, let alone -

Dean. Dean, though. But he was blood – certainly the weyrleader wouldn't allow Dean's Soranth to fly his little brother's queen, or to even _attempt_ such a thing-

 _You are distressed. And I am hungry. Feeding me will make us both feel better._ Diaranth's voice broke through Sam's panic and distracted him enough that the thoughts settled into a thick mud of emotion in the pit of his stomach rather than a flurry of firelizards.

Sam swallowed hard and focused on finishing the remaining part of Diaranth's hide that was unoiled. “Yes. Perhaps the air out of the weyr will help me think clearly.”

He wasn't so sure that it would help, but his beautiful beast was complaining, so it was his duty to make sure her bottomless pit of a belly was sated, at least for a while. He followed her towards the exit of his weyr and carefully mounted her, even though he suspected that he would get criticism for riding her when she was still so small. As soon as he settled she leaped off the ledge and spread her wings, powerful muscles beating strongly as they flew towards the feeding ground. She hovered over the ground for a moment and he leaped off of her back, settling down to watch her fly over the fence of the feeding ground and pick out a herdbeast. She chose a medium-sized buck and snatched it up quickly, taking off for an empty ledge to feast.

As Sam rubbed a sore shoulder, he wondered if staying at Benden would be a good idea if it included watching Dean and Soranth fly another queen.

 

The next Threadfall Sam regretted his decision to be in the healer section. More dragons than usual were injured, and their piteous screams made Sam yearn to curl up beside Diaranth and avoid everyone. That wasn't an option, however. He was needed. Every available hand was needed, and even then there was a horrifying moment when a badly Thread-scored rider stayed unconscious so long that his green dragon nearly lost her mind with fear that she went _between_ , thinking her rider lost. Only the force of all the queens in the weyr, including juvenile Diaranth herself, kept the little green from going and staying gone. The orders of the queens and a faint call from her rider called her down from barely a dragon-length in the air. She landed with a thump that rattled pebbles and started crooning all the more worriedly at her rider. He was surrounded by the most experienced healers so it was doubtful that he and his beloved green would be lost to the weyr.

It was always a mournful day when a rider or dragon was lost. If a rider died, his dragon would follow, going _between_ and not returning from it. If a dragon died, the rider lost his soul, becoming a shell unless he battled his apathy back. That was often too hard for a rider so devoted to his dragon, though there were technically three dragonriders still among the living after losing their dragons. Lytol, the warder of Lord Jaxom, future lord of Ruatha was one of them. Brekke was a queen rider, and from what Sam understood it was only the love her weyrmate F'lon and their little firelizards had that kept her from being lost permanently. Perhaps it also helped that she could still hear the other dragons, as well. Kylara... well, Kylara wasn't spoken of any more. Sam shivered at the thought of that woman. He had seen her once, just once, and that was enough for him. The once-beautiful woman scared him.

Sam was finishing up the patching of one rider's Thread-singed thigh when he saw Soranth land heavily a few dragon-lengths away. He hurried with the bandage and wrapped it securely in place before quickly moving towards his brother. He would be the one to help his brother, now that he was in the weyr. Well, as long as it wasn't so serious that Sam couldn't handle it.

Dean looked rough, spattered with dust from charred Thread and wind burnt from flying hard for hours in Threadfall. Soranth was crooning worriedly at Dean as he slid out of the fighting straps and to the ground. He nearly fell, but Sam caught him and sat him on Soranth's stretched-out forearm. His brother was so dusty that he couldn't tell where the wound was.

 _His shoulder,_ Diaranth told him. _A piece of Thread got behind him and singed his back through some of his straps_.

Sam shuddered. That meant that, if it had happened earlier in the Fall, Dean might have wrenched something trying to stay in his harness. Rather than making his brother move, he walked around Soranth's forepaw and edged between the dragon's muzzle and his rider. “Excuse me, bronze dragon, but I'd like to attend to your rider.” A huge faceted eye whirled in front of his face before Soranth closed his inner lid. Sam thought he heard a whisper in his head for a moment, but it passed quickly. He had more important things to worry about.

After a moment, Soranth snorted and made space after nudging Dean's uninjured shoulder. Dean huffed and leaned forward, attempting to unbuckle his Wherhide jacket. Sam moved faster than he did and got to the buckles first, tugging gently and finally prying it off of his injured brother. Dean hissed as his shoulder muscles worked and Sam saw with a frown just how bad the damage was. He got a pot of Numbweed and, after flicking the last remaining fragments of flash-frozen Thread away from the wound, slathered the score with the powerful ointment.

“It definitely could have been worse. Your lucky that Soranth is a quick mover.” He carefully folded up a bandage and pressed it firmly against the wound, trying not to feel either sympathy or grim satisfaction for his brother's pain. “It doesn't need stitching, but the muscles are going to be sore for at least a sevenday, probably more. I'm going to put your arm in a sling to take some of the pressure off.”

“Some wine or fellis juice would be nice, to dull the pain,” Dean said with his face turned away and his teeth clenched.

“You can get some later,” Sam returned heartlessly. After all of his misery and frustration and yearning to see his older brother, being near him now just infuriated him. It wasn't a very rational thought, but at that moment Sam didn't feel very rational. “So is there a reason you've been avoiding me?”

“Avoiding you?” Dean scoffed, then flinched when Sam started tightly binding the bandage in place. “You sure do think a lot of yourself.”

By the time he'd finished the bandaging and had used some extra strips of cloth to make a sling, he felt nearly capable of speaking without yelling. “Think much of myself?” Sam stepped from between Soranth and Dean. “All I wanted to do was to see my broth-” his voice was rising a bit higher than normal in anger.

“Be quiet,” Dean hissed. Sam froze.

“Why?” he asked imperiously. Dean turned to look at him, then avoided his eyes. Sam started to feel his wrath fade, replaced with nausea. Dean mumbled something and Sam had to make him repeat it so that he could hear him.

“I... I don't want it getting out that... that we're brothers, okay?”

Sam's stomach plummeted. Dimly he heard Diaranth's shrill bugle of alarm from their weyr as everything inside him went cold.

Dean was ashamed of him. His own, beloved brother was ashamed of him. The nausea rolling in him got worse and it took everything in him to keep from retching. He pulled up as much pride and dignity as he could manage to keep his brother from finding out just how much that had hurt.

“Fine then.” Sam swallowed the thickness in his throat, turned and walked away. He held his head high even though what he wanted to do was curl up beside Diaranth and never move again. He vaguely heard Dean call his name, but after only one call Dean fell silent. So that was that, then.

Sam worked mechanically to help other dragons and their riders, and when the cleanup was finally through he returned to his weyr. He changed into a tunic and pants that didn't smell like Numbweed and firestone, curled up against Diaranth's side, and shook while his beautiful queen crooned with worry.

 

___________

 

Sam's health declined steadily over the course of a season and several Threadfalls. Headwoman Manora was called in, and she tried to nurse him back to health but nothing she did seemed to touch the illness. They could find no cause for his disinterest in anything and everything. He hadn't spoken a word since the Fall he'd been on the healer team. Diaranth started to lose her golden color, and it was only through her efforts and pleading that Sam took any food into his system. There was talk that he was acting as if his dragon had died, even though she still lived and grew.

By the middle of the turn after he had Impressed Diaranth, Sam wasn't responding to anything. He stopped eating, and when that happened Diaranth started eating more than was normal for even a growing queen. It was as if the dragon's life and her rider's were more intertwined than usual, as Sam somehow did not die with his lack of nutrients. He started hearing whispers in his head that were not Diaranth; thinking he was losing his mind, he shut down even further. Something was wrong inside him, and a fever slowly started to creep into his body.

Lessa, the Weyrwoman of Benden, finally stepped in. She spoke to Weyrleader D'ram of Southern Weyr and asked if he had space in his weyr to house a sickly queen rider. He agreed after hearing just how sick the boy was. It was hoped that the fresh, warm air would help Sam, though they were wary of how the cold of Between would affect him. Master Healer Oldive was called and he agreed with the decision, cautioning that someone should still keep an eye on Sam or his queen at all times. By this time Diaranth had stopped leaving the weyr except to gorge herself on wherries and herdbeasts, staying close to Sam's side and hissing at anyone who dared approach. Several of the dragonriders with fire lizards would send their little friends to hover near the entrance to Sam's weyr, just in case.

The night before Sam was to be taken to Southern, Dean came to visit him, Soranth dropping him off at the weyr entrance. When his rider slid off his shoulder, the bronze stretched out on the ground beside the stairs leading down into the valley. His luminous eyes were barely visible in the darkness as he watched Dean approach Diaranth's stone couch. Sam was curled up, asleep against Diaranth's nearly-white side on the chill rock. There was a pile of furs on the floor that he had apparently knocked off of himself in his sleep. Diaranth and her rider slept deeply, not even stirring as Dean approached them.

Sam looked almost dead, his skin nearly white from lack of sun and exercise. Dean sat against the queen's couch and whispered to his younger brother. Sam didn't stir. Dean tucked the furs around his brother as he had before Soranth had been Impressed. His brother's body was unnervingly lax, and had Diaranth not been sleeping right beside him Dean would fear...

Soranth rested his great head on the wide lip at the entrance to the weyr and watched over them quietly. The dragon knew what had happened. He also knew that his rider was suffering almost as much as the queen and her rider. It was only Dean's duties to his weyrleader that kept him from being in such a state himself. That and Soranth's own abilities as a fighting dragon kept Dean from being scored far worse during Threadfall than he was.

After a few hours, Dean got up from the uncomfortable stone, leaned over his brother, kissed him lightly on his shoulder, and left the weyr. Sam never even knew he'd been there.

The sun rose and Sam was bundled into furs and taken to Southern Weyr on the back of a young dragon while Diaranth followed. The never-ending cold of _between_ jarred Sam enough that he noticed he was on a dragon, but as he was carried down, he caught a faint whisper in his mind that wasn't Diaranth and promptly shut back down.

 

Time passed, and before Sam got better he got worse. His fever finally flourished and for a time he was delirious. When that was battled down to nonexistence, Sam started to come back to himself. He became of the mind that, if the whispers meant he was going mad, then the least he could do was not be a burden on any other weyrfolk. He would not become like Kylara.

He took a renewed interest in his personal hygiene, and bathed for the first time in some while. He took up the duty of cleaning and caring for Diaranth's hide, spending hours oiling and scrubbing and smoothing her delicate surface and letting her soft croons of pleasure pull him slowly from the black space in his mind. It hovered there, still, and he feared that it would for the rest of his life, but Diaranth took it upon herself to be the shining sun in Sam's life, and for that he appreciated her all the more.

It was on one such bathing-and-oiling day that a weyrling approached him. He was probably barely younger than Sam, with bright blond hair and dark eyes. Sam had seen him out of the corner of his eye, standing timidly in the shade of one of the nearer trees to the pond where Diaranth was splashing contently after a round of scrubbing. He thought the boy looked familiar, though he wasn't sure from where. He waited, and before long the lad approached him and spoke.

“You're Sam, right? And her name is Diaranth?” at Sam's disinterested nod of agreement, the boy gazed at the queen for a moment before continuing. “She's really beautiful. Pale, though. Are you still sick, or is she?”

“Both of us are as healthy as we'll ever be,” Sam responded. The truth of the matter was that Sam doubted that Diaranth would ever have a vivid golden color unless when she was in a mating passion. It was Sam's fault for making her worry so much to have permanently damaged her coloring, but he did his best to make it up to his dear queen. Sam, however, had no intention of admitting that to a stranger, dragonrider or not. It was private, and personal, and no one's business but his own. Didn't this lad have any tact or sense of decency?

Apparently not, as the lad continued gazing at Diaranth before fixing his dark eyes on Sam. “My name is K'len. I was the rider that D'ram sent to get you from Benden. I originated from Ista, but I like it here better. I'm glad D'ram decided to let us come here, even though so many of the Oldtimers here are pretty unimpressed with so many younger riders. I'm going on my first flight with the Southern wings for Thread in a sevenday. Do you think you will be well enough to join us?” He cocked his head to the side as if accustomed to having longer hair that got in his eyes. For some reason, that movement irritated Sam. Perhaps it was because it reminded him that he himself had longer hair than he was used to, as it was long enough to block his eyesight.

The question registered after a moment and Sam grimaced to himself. “I've no idea,” he admitted. “The Weyrwoman has not said one thing or the other about doing anything.”

As he spoke of this, he realized that it had been some time indeed since he had seen hide or hair of the woman. It worried him a bit, but he supposed that the Weyrwoman was simply busy. It shouldn't surprise him that the woman had more important things to do than helping a male queen rider, but he was still unpleasantly surprised by it.

The thoughts distracted him enough to allow K'len to start talking some more. He was rambling on about one thing or another when Diaranth emerged after her soaking. Sam used her as an excuse, and left the clearing, the golden queen tagging along behind him as they went to their weyr to find and use the sweet-smelling oil on the dragon's hide.

“He makes me uncomfortable,” Sam whispered to his dragon.

 _He likes you_ , the dragon responded as she sprawled on the soft sand in her wallow. _He wants to help you feel better_.

“I don't need anyone but you to make me feel better,” Sam spoke sharply, pausing in the process of picking up the pot of oil. “You, my beauty, are all I require.”

 _Of course,_ the dragon replied. _As you are all that I need._. Diaranth shifted lazily and lifted a wing out of the way so that Sam could oil the delicate membrane close to the joint of the wing. The oil smelled warm and comforting, with the slightly spicy scent of dragons.

Sam changed the subject. “It _is_ rather difficult to adapt to living in a weyr made of wood,” he said, leaning close to Diaranth's hide to smell the soft scent.

_Where ever we live, that is a weyr._

Sam laughed softly. “What about a small cothold? You wouldn't even fit inside it, dear one.”

 _I could make a space in there._ The dragon sounded a bit aggrieved as Sam moved on to another body part.

“Perhaps you could, but you would burst the windows trying to leave it.” Sam pressed his cheek against Diaranth's hide, taking in the warm scent. In his mind he heard the musical sound of Diaranth's version of laughter.

 

K'len, as it turned out, was a bronze weyrling. His dragon was named Torilenth, and both rider and dragon were far too interested in Sam and his queen. Diaranth thought it was highly entertaining, Sam, not as much. He just wished for the boy to find some attachment with some other rider, though he suspected that there would be a difficult time of doing that as there were no other young queens that had come to Southern. Diaranth was the closest in age to the weyrlings, but was rapidly growing to full adulthood. Perhaps then K'len and Torilenth would lose interest, for the young bronze wasn't too close to full adulthood, as far as Sam could tell.

Sam and Diaranth took to leaving the weyr for hours at a time, ostensibly searching for firelizard eggs. Sam brought with him only furred bags for the possible eggs on these sojourns, as the Southern continent was so lush that all he had to do was pluck fresh fruit from the vine or tree that it grew on. He would stretch out on one beach or another, resting and soaking in the sun and growing browner. He still felt that horrible emptiness when he thought of his brother, but all he could do was learn to ignore it. There was nothing he could do about it, after all; he could only learn to live with it and focus on his beautiful queen and not let anything else effect him.

It was then, of course, that pure chance led to him actually finding a clutch of firelizard eggs. They were small and soft and mottled and probably hadn't been laid a sevenday ago. He alerted the Weyrwoman of Southern Weyr and let her deal with them. When she reluctantly offered him an egg for himself, he refused her. Diaranth was all that he needed, he believed. She was beautiful and loved him and would protect him with everything that she had, and it would be blasphemous to treat her as anything less than what she was.

The voices in his mind faded the farther he explored from the Weyr. What he had in his mind instead were flashes of images, indistinct colors and emotions, stuff that made little sense but at least it was easily ignored. He just concentrated on the hide of his queen, the delicate shade of pale gold that she had become when she grew healthy. She would never be the brilliant deep gold that Ramoth was, but that did not appear to bother her, and so Sam did not let it bother him. She was healthy, and he was healthy, and other than that nothing mattered.

The first firelizard clutch was followed quickly by more; for some reason, Sam had a knack for finding the little things. Once he even found a clutch that was just about to hatch; he had Diaranth call for the other dragonriders to come and impress the little beauties, but even when a little bronze and a brown approached him he ducked back and let a bronze rider claim them. The little beasts unsettled him, though he did not know why. He would have preferred to not find them, but he was duty-bound to alert the Weyr to the discovery of each clutch. It soon got to the point where the other riders didn't bother looking; all they had to do was wait for Sam to find some more, and the Weyr would once again be supplied.

Sam finally reached a point with his discomfort for the little creatures that he stopped sunning himself and Diaranth on the beaches and headed inland, looking for a place far enough away from the beaches that it would be unlikely that he would find any more clutches.

He and Diaranth flew over land rich with color. They saw ships land and spread out to collect herbs and fruits and greens for the holds further to the north, and smelled the horrible scent of boiling numbweed. When he smelled that, Sam had to rest for a bit and Diaranth found a comfortable set of caves that worked as a natural weyr like those on the Northern continent, and there they rested. Sam wondered if he and Diaranth could possibly live out there, away from everyone and everything that would bother them.

The annoyances included K'len, as the young man pestered Sam whenever he returned to the Weyr, as well as a few of the younger bronze riders. The older ones tended to ignore his existence, and Sam was fine with that. He and Diaranth grew steadily more solitary, and spent less and less time there until it was almost as if the Weyrwoman and Weyrleader of Southern Weyr had forgotten about him. Sam preferred it that way.

Until Dean showed up in Southern Weyr looking for him.

 

 _We are summoned_ , Diaranth alerted Sam from where she splashed in a deep cool lake.

“By whom?” Sam asked, pushing himself up on his elbows from his resting position to peer towards his golden queen.

The queen didn't answer, instead swimming towards the shore and stepping onto the rocky land. She shook herself dry as best she could and looked to the sky. _We must go_.

Sam didn't understand her evasiveness, but he sat up the rest of the way and started gathering his riding gear from where he had left it before diving into the lake earlier. “Is it Threadfall? Does the Weyrwoman wish us to fly with her wing?”

The dragon hummed and turned her head from her rider. She responded in the negative, but when pressed she refused to elaborate. Sam sighed and muttered something about stubborn queens and finished clothing himself. He leaped to sit between her neck ridges and before he even finished settling himself she had thrown herself into the air and with a powerful downwards sweep of her wings she was airborne and flying towards the Weyr.

Sam reveled in the strength of Diaranth's muscles, in the sleek movements of her body as she flew, and such was their bond that he felt her joy at it as well, her utter contentment at being in the air with him astride her. This was all that they needed in the world, truly and without a doubt.

When Diaranth rose to mate, no bronze would catch her. Neither she nor Sam would allow it. Sam because he would not be with any of the bronze riders if he could help it, and Diaranth because she loved her rider and would do as he wished no matter the consequences.

No one had yet to see what happened if a queen flew and was never caught. Sam supposed that they would be unique in this way, as well.

When he got to the Weyr, he felt utter betrayal towards his queen.

Soranth was in the clearing that Sam had claimed as Diaranth's and his weyr. Sam would recognize that deep, nearly dark brown shade of bronze anywhere.

“No,” he whispered as Diaranth began to descend to the clearing. “Please, Diaranth, my beauty, don't do this to me.”

He felt the queen's worry and love for him, and knew that she only meant the best for him. His strength and will to fight, to order Diaranth back into the sky and as far away from Dean and his bronze as possible, waned and then vanished. When Diaranth landed, he didn't dismount, only stared at the bronze's head and wondered where the rider was.

Soranth turned a huge faceted eye in his direction, the colors whirling slowly a deep blue-green.

Sam's head began to pound as if he had drunk an entire cask of Benden wine. He thought he heard a whispered greeting, but the madness faded as quickly as it had come at the sight of his brother coming through the trees on the far side of the clearing and walking towards him.

Dean smiled up at him, his eyes crinkling just a bit as if he had been squinting for some time. “Hey Sammy. How are you?”

No. No, nonono... Sam's chest tightened with panic and anger and pain and it was this that finally forced Diaranth to follow his pleading orders. She bugled with alarm and leaped into the air again, getting enough air space and winking _between_ and away from the thing causing her rider so much distress.

Dean's face was the last thing that Sam saw before blackness. His expression of worry and concern and affection, all the emotions that had always been on his face before Sam had Impressed Diaranth made Sam feel like he was dying.

When Sam and Diaranth emerged out of _between_ they were back at the cave system Sam had considered living in. The wide lip of one of the larger caves was Diaranth's landing space, and Sam quickly dismounted and fled into the caves towards one of the deeper rooms. Diaranth followed behind him, her eyes glowing purple-red with worry and fear for her rider.

Sam reached a deep, cold pool within the caverns and finally halted just before his feet would have hit the water. He sat down hard, feeling as if his legs had given up on him. It was dark; the only light came from Diaranth's whirling eyes, and it reflected off of the still pool with an eeriness that Sam hadn't experienced before.

It comforted him, as did Diaranth's presence at his back. After a while, Sam spoke.

“I wish that you hadn't done that.”

The young queen rested her head beside him and nudged him gently with her muzzle. _I had hoped that it would help you heal._

“I _am_ healed,” Sam responded with some heat.

 _Not there_ , the dragon responded and nudged his chest. _It is cold and hurtful and something is missing from there. I had hoped that he could fix it._

“Well, he didn't.” Sam shivered suddenly and leaned more firmly against his queen's bulk.

 _I know that now_ , Diaranth answered back. Sam's whole body moved when the queen sighed heavily. _You hurt, and I cannot fix what is wrong with you _.__

The plaintive note in the dragon's mindspeech touched Sam and he turned to bury his face against the dragon's spicy-sweet smelling hide. “It is not something to be repaired so lightly, my love. Would that it were, and I'd suffer no more. But that's not the way the egg cracks, and so we must live as best we can.” Sam couldn't quite keep his voice from shaking, but the dragon's presence helped a little. His chest ached, but not as painfully as it had before.

 _Are you angry with me_? Diaranth asked in a subdued manner. Sam turned and hugged her great muzzle.

“Never, my love.”

They sat in silence for some time before Diaranth stiffened and Sam heard the faint sound of approaching wings from outside the caves. There was a clatter of claws at the lip of the entrance, and before long there was a vague shape of a man and a dragon approaching.

“Sammy? Sam?” Dean's voice was hesitant, and Soranth's eyes spun a shade closer to violet than blue. They moved warily closer, and Diaranth hissed at them both. Dean paused, daunted before the malevolent queen, but Soranth moved a few paces closer before stopping and sitting neatly a dragonlength away from the distressed pair.

Sam sighed. “What do you want, Dean? I had thought you had said all you needed to months ago.”

Dean shuffled closer, pausing close to his dragon's side. He sat down and leaned against Soranth's side. “I didn't explain myself very well, did I?”

Sam stifled a harsh laugh, but some of it managed to escape when he replied with a weak 'no.'

Dean sighed. “I...” He paused again as if searching for words. He let out an exasperated breath and tried again. “You... there's a reason you reacted as badly as you did to what I said, wasn't there? A reason you got so sick because of it?”

Sam's ire rose. “Sure do think a lot of yourself, don't you?” he spat back, repeating the phrase that Dean himself had used that day. He thought he saw Dean flinch, and felt good. Then he promptly felt guilty for feeling good about hurting his brother.

“Sammy-”

“It's Sam.”

Dean halted again, and for a moment Sam almost wished he could see his brother's face. Dean breathed in deeply, and continued. “Sam, then. Why did it hurt you so much when I said that I didn't want it known we were related?”

“I'm in love with you.” Sam couldn't quite believe that the words came from his mouth; his voice was strange and weak and almost flat with no emotions left.

Yes, he loved his brother, but it wasn't as if it was a happy love. It hurt and burned and brought misery and despair, and there was nothing that anybody could do about it to change the fact that it was there and there to stay. Sam hated himself for it, but what could he do?

He waited for Dean's response, if there was to be any.

Dean took another shuddering breath, and Sam thought he saw him nod in the darkness. “I'd wondered if that was it. If you-” He paused before apparently forcing the words out of himself, “If you'd felt the same way.”

Sam blinked in the near pitch-blackness. Diaranth crooned low in her throat, and Soranth answered with a deeper rumble. “What?” he breathed, not quite believing he'd heard correctly.

“I... what you feel for me? I feel the same.” Before Sam could respond, Dean was continuing in a rushed manner. “I didn't want it known that we were brothers so when Diaranth rises to mate Soranth won't be refused the chance to fly her. When you Impressed her, I thought- I don't know what I thought, just that...” He made a gesture, one that Sam could barely see in the glow of the dragons' eyes. “When I thought about another bronze flying her, another rider being with you, I-”

Sam shuddered at the thought. “Dean...” He couldn't quite find the breath to speak any more. Shards, but he wanted Dean to be telling the truth, to not be telling a cruel and twisted prank on him. He craved his brother in a manner that was wrong at the very basis of his being, but...

Sam found himself on his feet, barely a breath from his still-sitting brother. Dean looked up at him. His eyes gleamed from the light of Soranth's eyes. The sight of his brother looking up at him unnerved Sam, and he sank to his knees before Dean.

“I...” He crept closer to Dean, eyes wide open and still mostly blind. Dean leaned hesitantly forward.

When they kissed, both dragons thrummed with approval. Diaranth moved closer to the big bronze, and Soranth untucked his wing and slipped it over her back. She was not yet fully grown, and so was dwarfed by the adult bronze, but neither seemed to matter.

The two young men continued to kiss, and the two dragons continued to croon.

__

When they returned to the Weyr, Dean and Soranth returned to Benden and Sam asked the Headwoman if he was well enough to travel _between_ back to Benden. She checked him over once more and told him that he'd done no damage to himself and mentioned that the Weyrleader wished to speak to him.

D'ram was standing outside the hunting grounds, watching his ancient bronze Tiroth swoop low and grab a fat wherry. The dragon was closer to grey than the brilliant bronze he apparently had been before he and the other Oldtimers had come forward in time to battle Thread. Diaranth swooped out to join him on the field.

As Sam approached D'ram, the older man turned to face him. “You wished to speak to me, Weyrleader?”

The Weyrleader folded his hands behind the small of his back and nodded. “I'd rather not waste time with more words than necessary, so I'm going to simply tell you. I was wondering if you would be interested in staying in Southern Weyr permanently, Sam. We could use some younger dragons down here, and I and the Weyrleader and Weyrwoman of Benden think this would be a good place for you.”

“Sir?” Sam stared in astonishment. Certainly he wasn't being offered what he thought he was being offered. It was impossible.

D'ram turned and looked at his dragon. Tiroth had lifted his meal to a ledge and was eating in the typically messy manner of dragonkind. “Most of the queens we have here are nearly grey with age, Sam, and most of the bronzes are in a similar state. F'lar and the other weyrleaders have already sent us two younger queens, but they are younger than you and Diaranth are. And the bronzes,” D'ram snorted. “Well, not all of the bronzes are content with flying greens.” He turned to look back at Sam. “If you would stay here we could begin training you in the duties of the Weyrwoman. It's a trying job from what I understand, and while you are a boy and not a girl you can still be taught the same things.” D'ram's mouth twitched. “The Weyrwoman of Benden was right when she said we're far too hidebound by our practices. If you prove to be accomplished at the duties a... senior queen rider is expected to do, you would be written about in legend and song.” D'ram stared intently at Sam, and Sam couldn't help but wonder what reaction the old rider was expecting from him.

But Dean...

D'ram saw his hesitation. He leaned forward. “What would it take for you to stay with us here? To make Southern your Weyr?”

Sam thought. He chewed on his lip and he could feel Diaranth's focus shift from the herdbeast she had just taken down to himself. “I...”

 _Say it_ , the dragon urged. Sam saw her lick her muzzle.

Sam turned to look D'ram in the face. “Make our first flight an open flight.”

D'ram's face tightened, but he nodded. “Done. I hope, for your sake, that it is worth it.”

 _It will be_ , the dragon promised. _I will let no one but Soranth even get close to flying beside me._

__

And so Sam began getting lessons in running the Weyr. Traditionally, it was the Weyrleader that would teach the queen rider her history, teaching ballads, and the proper way to deal with the Weyr's inner workings. As Sam had had Lessa as his leader at Benden, he had a decent grasp on much of the duties, but that was how he discovered just how differently the other Weyrs, Southern in particular, were run. 

The Weyrwoman of Southern, an Oldtimer by the name of Mardra, was a disagreeable woman who ignored everyone and everything, refusing to even fly Threadfall. She was only interested in causing trouble in anyone who approached her, though apparently she was confused enough by Sam being a male queen rider that she avoided him when possible and treated him with some sort of politeness, as evidenced by her earlier willingness to allow Sam to have a firelizard egg. She seemed to hate the changes that had been taking place in the Weyrs, and the mood was all the more obvious in her golden queen Loranth's treatment of the newer dragons that were making up the fighting wings, as well as the little adolescent queens. None of the queens were from Loranth's line, and that seemed to infuriate the old, nearly-grey queen. 

All of this combined to mean that more duties fell on the Headwoman and the other people in the Weyr, rather than on the Weyrwoman as they should have. Sam was fascinated by the teaching ballads, though he was unnerved by the Ballad of Moreta, which technically wasn't a teaching ballad but more one for the Weyrwomen to heed highly. The idea of getting lost in _between_... 

He shuddered, just thinking about it. He felt Diaranth's discomfort with it as well. Some things, he decided, were better left out of mind. 

Sevendays passed and Sam was kept too busy to worry about Dean's absence or the fact that Diaranth's golden color was starting to get closer to the brilliant mating hue. All he could do was hope that Dean would be back for the mating flight, and if he couldn't then Sam could control Diaranth enough that she wouldn't be caught. 

Then bronze riders began trickling in, all vying for Sam's attention and the attention of his queen. This, naturally, led Sam to finding sanctuary away from the Weyr, for once again the voices in his head were growing louder due to... something Sam wasn't sure of. Perhaps it was the influx of dragons and their riders causing his mental balance to teeter. He started sneaking rugs and glow baskets and sleeping furs into the cave system that he had found, that he and Dean had expressed their emotions for each other in. The fact that his and Dean's father John had been a woodcarver helped Sam build furniture for his little weyr, though his first attempt at anything – a stool with three legs – fell apart spectacularly the first time he sat on it. Oh, how Diaranth had laughed in her quiet way! 

Diaranth spent much of her time sunning on the ledge of the cave, cooking under the hot noonday sun. Sam continued oiling her regularly, for she was still growing, though she had finally slowed down quite a bit when it came to eating, so she was clearly approaching her adult size. 

And she was beautiful. Sam suspected that her coloring would always be on the paler side of gold, but she was sleek and graceful, clearly a prime example of Ramoth and bronze Mnementh's superior stock, especially when compared to the Oldtimer queens. She was already a good half a dragonlength longer than Loranth, and that queen was the largest of the remaining queens from the forward movement in time. 

Sam loved her with all of his heart. Or, at least, the part of his heart not Dean's. Sam honestly hoped that it never came down to a decision between his dragon or his brother, for, and this felt like blasphemy to even _think_... he wasn't sure which he would choose. 

_I understand_ , his beautiful and precious queen told him in her implacable way. _Just as long as I am as important to you as he is_. 

“Of course!” Sam exclaimed. That was the whole problem, after all. 

He just hoped that problem wouldn't become larger than it was already. 

Sam blocked the thought from his mind and continued copying the Question Song. D'ram would want to see the ten copies soon, and Sam would need to make sure that the things were flawless. He didn't want to have to redo all of them all over again, and he'd already had to do that once a sevenday ago. 

As he was working on his final copy, he heard footsteps outside his weyr. When he looked up, he saw Dean. His hands froze, and his heart warmed. 

“Good morning, bronze rider,” Sam said courteously. Dean smiled in response, a teasing gleam in his eyes. 

“Good morning, queen rider. I trust that your dragon is in fine health?” 

Sam smiled. “That she is. It won't be too much longer before she rises to mate.” He set down his writing tool and slid his seat back to focus more fully on his brother. Dean immediately stepped closer and leaned down, kissing Sam lightly on the forehead. 

“Have you been well?” Dean gently traced Sam's eyebrows with a forefinger. 

Sam's smile turned a bit wry. “I'll be better after all the extra bronzes leave.” He shrugged. “But other than that, I have been well.” 

“Excellent.” Dean cradled Sam's face in his hands and leaned forward, about to kiss him. 

“Hey, Sam, D'ram wants these-” there was the sound of sheets of hide falling to the floor, and Sam turned to see K'len standing by the entrance looking stunned. 

Sam could feel Dean stiffen, then draw back. Sam sighed. “Yes, K'len?” He caressed Dean's hand and nodded to him. “I shall see you later?” 

Dean gave an unpleasant look in K'len's direction, but nodded and squeezed Sam's hand. “That you shall.” He smiled warmly at Sam and exited the room, going through the door in a manner that made K'len shy back like a startled runnerbeast. 

K'len gathered up the hides that he had dropped and tried to order them again. He approached Sam's seat and set the pile beside him. “Who was that?” 

Sam didn't answer; instead, he focused his attention on the pile of hides with confused frustration. “What are these?” 

“D'ram wants you to go through these, as something's not matching up in the food storage. We're missing several sacks of flour, and the fish we got from the fishermen have come up missing.” 

Sam frowned at the hides and nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose he's worried someone is stealing food, or that the Weyr is getting shortchanged?” 

K'len shrugged. “Could be. Could be nothing so much as miscounted food.” 

“Hmm...” Sam hummed to himself and waved K'len away. “Thank you, K'len. I'll get to this after I do the last of this.” 

K'len nodded and headed towards the door. He paused. “Sam? Who was that dragonrider?” 

"Good day, K'len.” Sam paused with the copying and watched out of the corner of his eye as K'len stood there for a moment more before turning and leaving. He sighed heavily and tried to return his focus to the copying, but the problems with the food disturbed him. He shrugged to himself and promised himself that he would look into it as soon as the last line dried. 

__

It was more than a couple of sevendays when it happened. Sam had awakened in a foul mood, hungry and irritable for no reason that he could find. After eating enough fruits and wherry meat to choke a runnerbeast, he stepped out of the caves that had become his secret weyr and looked about him. 

The voices in his mind were suddenly louder, as if they were clamoring for his attention. 

_Only blood, Torilenth, else you have no hope of catching-_

_It is time, she will rise any moment now, and you must fly your fastest, dear one-_

_Shards, is it time already?_

_Tiroth, alert Ramoth. She shall tell the other bronzes-_

_Sear it, where is that thrice-blasted queen hiding herself? Or, for that matter, her rider? If they aren't nearby everything will be-_

What on Pern were they talking about? And who were they? Sam stared out at the world around him, and then he heard excited bugling of dragons coming from the direction of Southern Weyr. In Sam's mind, he could feel Diaranth's restlessness as she began to drift towards waking, but then it subsided for a few minutes. The bugling of the other dragons grew more frantic, and then the sky above Sam's small weyr was filled with dragons, all brilliant shades of bronze. 

Sam then understood with horrified clarity just what was happening. 

No. No, no no nononoNO! Diaranth was about to rise to mate! 

Where was Dean? Sam didn't see Soranth's bulk amongst the other bronzes! 

Diaranth's mind stirred closer to wakefulness, and then suddenly she was awake and voracious. And _angry_. Letting out an infuriated shriek of defiance, she rose from her nest of rocks and sand and headed towards the entrance to the weyr. Sam immediately went to block her way in hopes that Dean would appear and everything would be all right. Diaranth hissed with fury at her rider, trying to edge around Sam but the youth stood firm. He tried to placate her, soothing her with his mind, but the queen would not be soothed. She wanted to eat, to glut herself and kill and rend and- 

There was a scrabbling of claws and several brown dragons landed close to the weyr, all but one of them with more than one rider. They had to be the bronze riders, come to claim Sam. 

Diaranth's rage suddenly became Sam's own fury. How dare they think they had any right to Sam or his queen? They shouldn't be here! They should _leave_ , and never return! Sam moved out of Diaranth's way and the queen immediately raced the rest of the way down the entrance to the weyr and leaped from the lip of the cave, taking to the air with a sinuous grace that Sam had not seen before. She was beautiful, and she _glowed_ a brilliant, startling gold. 

One of the brown riders gestured to Sam and Sam immediately hopped onto the dragon's back as Diaranth flew towards the Weyr, where a huge herd of beasts were waiting to be slaughtered. As Sam clutched the sides of the rider in front of him, he heard the rider hiss, “Don't let her gorge herself. Force her to blood her kills, and blood them only-” and then they were in the air and _between_ , back to the Weyr. 

They popped into existence close to the feeding ground, in time to see Diaranth choose her first kill. She shrieked again, sending the beasts into a panic before streaking down and landing hard on a fat buck. Her claws ripped through the beast's belly and she lowered her head towards the steaming innards, intent on filling her stomach with the thick, rich meal. 

_NO!_ Sam screamed in his mind at his queen. She screamed her defiance, her wings flapping with sudden fury. _You musn't gorge! Please, my beauty,_ listen! _Only blood it!_

Diaranth hissed her rage again, but obeyed. She ripped out the beast's throat and drank deeply, licking at the spilled blood until her muzzle was covered with it and the beast was drained dry. Then she leaped again and once again had to be stopped from feeding on the herdbeast's meat, but after the third one she began to understand what she was meant to do, and with the fourth herdbeast she took down she immediately went for its throat. 

She was distracted enough with her feast that Sam dared to despair at his brother knowing it was time. If Dean didn't arrive soon- 

The bronzes were crowding around Diaranth, crooning to her. She hissed at them, her eyes whirling redly. She would not be placated by silly, weak bronzes. She was Diaranth, a powerful and unstoppable golden queen, and they would be no match for _her_. 

Diaranth finished up her last buck and ran to the edge of the plateau that held the feeding grounds, and then she leaped into the sky and was flying, the bronzes in hot pursuit. She was glorious, and she and Sam were one, mindheartspiritsoul, and nothing would catch them. 

A small part of Sam, not overwhelmed in the mating frenzy, feared for himself. The bronze riders were surrounding him, staring at him, including K'len. None of them, and Sam was somewhat surprised to notice this, looked to be disgusted with his being male. Then, the sane part of his reasoned, it _was_ an open mating flight, so- 

Diaranth's scream echoed through the air and Sam's eyes slid shut as his mind was drawn into his queen. She flew fast and hard and beautifully, many dragonlengths between herself and the pursuing bronzes. Good, Sam thought, hoping that none would get close enough. None deserved the right to fly them, none at all of the pathetic bronzes could even come _close_ to catching them- 

Some of the bronzes dropped back, their hides fading to grey. They were Oldtimer beasts, too long in the fang to keep up with the younger ones. Soon it was down to only two bronze beasts, neither of which were Soranth. Neither of which were worthy of Diaranth. 

Sam began to feel despair, same as his beloved dragon. Had Dean lied to him? Did he really not wish to be with Sam? What would happen if another bronze caught Diaranth? 

As the despair welled deeper within him, Sam screamed in his mind again, this time for his brother. 

_DEAN!_

Seconds later, there was a huge dark bronze dragon over the field and a rider leaped from the beast's back at a dangerous height, tumbling to the ground even as the bronze took off in hot pursuit of the queen and her bronzes. 

Dean carefully stood from his crouch on the grass and ran towards Sam. 

Diaranth let out a challenging bugle as Soranth took his place beside the other two bronzes, one of which was Torilenth, and then Soranth was outflying them and closing in on Diaranth's tailtip. The queen dipped back teasingly, then sped forward, her tail flicking the tip of Soranth's nose with impudence. She would not be so easily caught by an upstart bronze, not if she could help it. 

The bronze riders all stood around Sam, swaying slightly as their minds locked so intently with their dragons. Dean's eyes were all for Sam, and had his eyes been able to open he would have seen such intense love and devotion in his brother's eyes that he'd never doubt in Dean's feelings for him again. 

Far away and high above, the four dragons flew on, until another bronze speck separated from the group and flew down from pure exhaustion. Then it was only Diaranth, Soranth, and Torilenth, and for a moment it was as if the world stood still and then Soranth was using a quick burst of speed and his neck was wrapping with Diaranth's, his wings tangling with hers and his tail wrapped tightly around one of her back legs. Then they were falling, towards the deep blue of the ocean over which they had been flying, and such ecstasy flooded Sam's senses that he could not see. 

He felt strong arms around his hips and a voice murmuring in his ear and when he became aware again he and Dean were alone in the clearing that had been Sam and Diaranth's weyr before they had made their home in the mountains, and, with Dean's voice echoing between them they brought their dragons safely to land. The mating passion of the dragons overwhelmed their riders, and before long there wasn't a stitch of clothing between the brothers, and then... 

__

They spent the next few days entangled as deeply as they could be. Diaranth and Soranth eventually returned to the Weyr, and they flew to the caves that Sam had claimed as his own. Arrangements were being made around them, but for those few days they reveled in their closeness. 

Then, they got a visit from K'len. 

The young man was tense and brooding when he saw Sam and Dean curled up shirtless together on the ledge of their weyr. He avoided Sam's eyes and spoke as brusquely as he could. “The weyrleaders wish to see you. They will be arriving in a few hours' time.” 

Sam frowned at K'len, but shrugged. “Thank you. We shall return to the Weyr shortly. Has there been any news of import the past few days?” 

“No, Queen's Rider, there hasn't.” K'len grew more tense as Dean brushed Sam's hair from his face. Sam stared at the young man. 

“Why do you say 'queen's rider' with such a peculiar emphasis?” 

K'len smiled briefly. “That is what we've taken to calling you, as you aren't a Weyrwoman, but you are at the same time. Journeywoman Menolly from the Harper Hall came up with the term for this use.” Sam smiled in return, and Dean stifled a snort. Sam prodded him sharply in his ribs. 

“Thank you, K'len, for your news and your help.” K'len nodded, turned, and left, leaping onto his bronze Torilenth's back with surprising grace. 

As the bronze and his rider rose in the air, Dean spoke. “He will be trouble.” 

Sam shrugged. “He is infatuated. Hopefully, he will withdraw his interest now that...” He smiled at his weyrmate. Dean smiled back. After a moment of gazing fondly at one another, they both blinked. Sam stretched lazily. “Well, I suppose we should get ready to greet the Weyrleaders.” 

Dean leaned over and sniffed noisily at Sam. “We stink. I suggest a bath at the Weyr, where there is heat and not the frigidity of the water in the cave.” 

With a laugh and a cheerful smack, Sam dodged away. “Yes, I suppose that _would_ be a fairly good idea.” He found a battered looking tunic and tugged it over his head. “The warmth will feel good for tired and sore muscles.” He turned his face a bit from his brother's knowing smirk. It was true that his brother had been the first one to touch him so intimately, but that did not mean that Dean should be so smug over it. 

When they returned to Sam's old weyr, Sam's mind was bombarded by thoughts and feelings that were not his own. As he slid off Diaranth's back, he staggered and nearly fell. He clutched his head, and he could hear Dean's panicked voice, both in his mind and in his ears. 

... his mind _and_ ears? 

He heard Diaranth bugle in alarm, her voice thrumming and drowning out all the other voices into a stunned silence. As the silence continued, Sam released his hold on his head and was somewhat surprised to see his brother hovering worriedly over him. He was more surprised by the fact that he was sitting on the ground, though, as he had no memory whatsoever of winding up there. 

“Sammy?” Dean whispered. He was kneeling directly in front of Sam's face, peering into his eyes. “What was that?” 

Sam stared up at his older brother and had to admit in a shaky voice, “I-I don't know.” 

He promptly lost consciousness. He didn't feel himself fall forward into Dean's arms, or hear his brother yelling for him. 

__

When he awoke, Sam was slightly surprised to see that the sky had gone dark above him. A shadow moved beside him and he recognized Dean. “What-” 

“Hey, you're awake then?” Dean hovered over him, looking older than he normally did. “We were going to the meeting with the weyrleaders and you just clutched your head and collapsed.” He peered worriedly into his brother's eyes. “Does it still hurt?” He lifted a hand to prod at Sam's forehead, but Sam batted it away. 

“I'm fine now.” He hesitated. “Did anyone do anything to me? Did I do anything to anyone?” Dean shook his head. Sam sighed a bit. He didn't know why, but when he had first awakened he feared that he had harmed someone. If that wasn't true, then - 

“Healer Missouri checked you over, but could find no cause for it.” He nodded at the older woman who was entering the weyr as he spoke. She was an intimidating woman with a no-nonsense manner about her that both eased and added to Sam's stress. 

“We let you sleep it off, as that was the only thing we could do,” the healer said. “Has anything like this happened before?” 

Sam shook his head. “Not that I know of. Well, not to that extreme.” At Dean's worried look and the healer's frown, he continued. “I've been having headaches for some time now, occasionally getting to bad that I see doubly.” 

Healer Missouri frowned harder and gestured for Sam to sit up. When he did, she pressed lightly at parts of Sam's skull, feeling along as if searching for something. She withdrew and sat before him. “You have no bumps or scratches. No abnormalities at all, for that matter. If this happens again, I will send a rider for Master Oldive at Harper Hall. Perhaps he can come up with an explanation.” 

“Is there anything he can take for this? Or something to relieve the headaches?” Sam felt a rush of affection for his overly-worried older brother. If Dean wasn't hovering like a queen with her first clutch, there had to be something wrong with him. 

“Do you drink much wine, Queen Rider? Or perhaps eat little in the way of fruits?” 

Sam smiled momentarily at the name, then shook his head, his face going more serious. “No, I do not. I lost my taste for it when I apprenticed at the Vintner Hall.” Missouri chuckled and Dean raised an eyebrow. Sam shrugged. It was the truth, after all. 

Then it occurred to him that Dean hadn't known what he'd done after their father had died. Sam's eyes went unfocused as he thought about those early days right after John had died. Then he refocused. 

Yes, that had been a difficult time, and Dean should know about how their father had gone peacefully. 

Or did Dean even know that John had died? 

__

Sam later discovered that yes, Dean had known about John's death, but when he'd tried to return to the place that John had lived, he had found nothing. Which was understandable, as directly after their father's death, Sam had wound up in the Vintner Hall in Benden, apprenticed to one of the masters there. 

Sam and Dean spoke to one another privately of their father, clinging together as they thought of the fact that they were orphans now, though nearly grown. 

Then the past faded back where it belonged and Sam and Dean went on to getting in contact with the other weyrleaders again and before they knew it, Diaranth had laid her clutch of eggs, forty-seven including a queen's egg. 

The Weyr prospered with the new leaders' guidance, and before anyone knew what had happened, it was already a turn past and Diaranth was rising to mate again and Soranth flew her again, though K'len's bronze Torilenth got within a wing's breadth of catching the queen. While the mating flight was still in progress, K'len got into a physical fight with Dean, his dragon's frustration as powerful as his own but the situation was diffused quickly enough by the Headwoman dousing them with a pot of chill water. In the interlude of time it took for them to disentangle, Soranth had wound his neck around Diaranth's and they were locked in a mating frenzy once more. Dean promptly forgot his argument with the younger bronze rider and took Sam to bed. 

They did not realize that K'len stayed in the entry to their weyr, listening as they coupled. And after a final exultant cry was ripped from one or the other's throat, he walked quietly out. 

He was not seen again that turn, nor the one after that. The other dragons could not hear Torilenth when pressed, but wherever the rider was, the dragon had to be as well. The dragons would have known had Torilenth gone and stayed _between_. During that time, Sam worried but did not have the time to think too much on what had happened to the young bronze and his rider. He was distracted by running Southern, encouraging better and more frequent contact with the people beholden to Southern Weyr for protection, so distracted in fact that it took him several sevendays to realize that his mind had been quiet but for himself and Diaranth's voices. 

Then, on the day that K'len and Torilenth returned, Sam's mind expanded with an explosion of pain. 

__

Sam had been watching Diaranth hovering over her latest clutch, attempting to talk her into leaving the eggs alone long enough for her to eat and for the candidates for Impression to spend time with the clutch when, without warning, his mind was filled with a cacophony of noise. He fell to his knees and clutched his head, stifling a scream as pressure built up between his eyes and towards the center of his skull. 

It _hurt_ , by the first egg, it _hurt_. He was too busy trying to keep his brain from overloading to notice not only his queen's agitation and worry but also the fact that a steady trickle of blood was dripping from his nose. The sands of the Hatching Ground burned his knees, but he still couldn't move. He thought he heard someone scream his name. 

His eyes closed tight, Sam just waited for the pain to end, either because it went away on its own or because he simply _died_ , but it went on and on and then, even though his eyes were firmly shut, he saw flashes of light. They didn't have a chance to resolve into anything, as Sam was roughly picked up and taken from the Hatching Grounds to sit on something that didn't burn him. The touch jolted Sam's mind and he tried to flinch back, mind reeling with overwhelming emotions that he was sure were not his own. 

_Worryfeardon'tleavemesammyterroriwon'tloseyoucan'tloseyou..._

Sam could taste the emotions on his tongue. It tasted like Dean. 

_Dean_. Yes, he would help; he had always helped in the past. There was nothing that his older brother couldn't do, couldn't fix. He suspected that had Dean not been a dragonrider, he would have been a healer or a smith, something that would _fix-_

“-Sam, can you hear me? C'mon, Sammy, you've gotta be able to hear me, right?” 

Sam shuddered and battled his own mind for control again. The emotions and voices slowly faded, and the pain in his head went from burning sharp pain to a dull, steady throb. As he clung to his brother, he wondered if he'd ever have peace again. He tiredly opened his eyes. 

Dean was wrapped around him, his head tucked against Sam's neck and shoulder. He was whispering, but Sam couldn't quite catch what his brother was saying. Sam coughed weakly, and Dean lifted his head so quickly that his nose clipped Sam's ear. 

Dean breathed Sam's name, and then they were kissing frantically, tangling limbs as tightly as they could. When Sam shifted to straddle Dean's hips, his head let out a pathetic, _painful_ throb. The pain halted him, and he curled back up against his brother, craving contact. Dean responded immediately by wrapping his arms around Sam's shoulders. 

“What was that? Soranth nearly lost his mind getting my attention, and-” 

“I'm scared.” 

The words halted Dean. “Sammy, what happened?” 

Sam shivered and tucked himself more tightly against Dean's side and chest. “I don't want to talk about it.” At Dean's skeptical look, Sam pleaded, “Please, at least not for the moment. My head hurts, and I can't focus my eyes very well-” Dean wiped at Sam's nose, and he was distracted from the rest of what he'd planned to say when he saw the smear of blood on his brother's fingertips. 

“This is why I am worried.” Dean fixed his eyes on Sam's face. “Something is going wrong up there,” he gestured at Sam's forehead, “and I don't know what it is or how to fix it.” 

Sam smiled weakly. “If it helps I don't think it will happen again?” 

Dean frowned. “No, it doesn't.” He straightened. “I want you to see Healer Missouri, and then I want you in bed. Do you hear me?” 

A stubborn part of Sam balked at the tone and the order, but the part of him that was and always would be the younger brother responded immediately with the compulsion to do exactly as his brother ordered. The two parts briefly battled, but when another angry throb echoed through his head, Sam sighed and attempted to stand. Dean assisted him, watching his wobbly attempt to walk. 

“Perhaps you should go to lie down first, and I shall send for the Healer-” 

“Dean, please.” Sam tried to stand straight and look his brother in the eye. “I don't want the rest of the Weyr to find out what happened.” 

“Sam, it was rather hard to miss just what was happening. The-” 

“Dean, _please_.” Sam begged as best he could, even though all he really wanted to do was rest. “Could you get her yourself? I don't want anyone but you and the Healer knowing about this.” 

Dean sighed. “I am leaving Soranth in the weyr with you, does that work? And we shall ride him to the weyr.” At Sam's frown, Dean glared at him. “No, this is how we shall do this and if you don't approve of it, well.” He shrugged and wrapped an arm around Sam's waist for him to steady himself with. 

Sam sighed but accepted the assistance. He really wasn't steady enough on his own feet to do much of anything but totter weakly around. His vision was still doubled, and his head throbbed like Harper Hall's messenger drums. 

When Sam was perched precariously on Soranth's back and Dean was tucked before him, Soranth launched himself into the sky, sending dust and debris flying from where he'd just been. Sam was rather irritated to realize that the dark bronze beast was flying with a ridiculous amount of care, as if he had some sort of precious cargo. 

_You are precious_ came the unexpected voice. It was deeper than the clear, bell-like sound of Diaranth's mental voice, but with it came the scent of firestone and spices. 

Sam's eyes widened. “Soranth?” he breathed, too quiet for Dean to hear him. 

_Who else?_

Before Sam could come up with a response, they were landing with a gentle thud, right beside the part of the Weyr that was Sam and Dean's bedchamber. Dean slid off first and offered his hands up to Sam. Soranth settled more low to the ground, his forelegs creaking faintly as he lowered his belly to the ground. Sam slid down and was quickly caught by Dean, stumbling momentarily. Dean led him to the bedchamber and helped him into bed, fussing over the furs. 

“I would still prefer to send a weyrling for Healer Missouri, but I suspect that it wouldn't go over too well.” He smiled crookedly at his brother, and Sam smiled weakly and settled more comfortably into the furs. 

“You would be correct. However, I've no plan to actually move any time soon, so I doubt that even I could manage to get into any mischief with your wherry hen of a bronze keeping an eye on me.” He glanced towards the entrance to the bedchamber, completely unsurprised to see Soranth's great head nearly filling the doorway. He felt amusement coming from somewhere, and Dean chuckled a bit. 

“I shall hurry back.” 

Sam yawned and wrapped the furs more firmly around himself. “Don't rush; I am not going anywhere for a while.” His eyes started to close, and he hoped that the headache would fade with sleep. He felt Dean's lips brush over his forehead and smiled. 

The light in the bedchamber grew brighter as Soranth moved his head for his rider, then darkened again as the great bronze settled again in his place, his bulk blocking anything that would attempt to disturb the tired Queen Rider. 

____ _ _

It took days before Sam was feeling well enough to leave his weyr. He was relieved to find that nothing dire had happened while he recovered from whatever it was that had been wrong with him. No, nothing _dire_ had happened. 

However, something odd _did_ happen, and that was K'len's return with an old bronze rider that no-one really knew of, which was peculiar in and of itself. It was unheard of for a bronze dragonrider to be unknown to any and all other weyrfolk. K'len claimed that he had gone _between_ times to before the Southern Continent was settled and that Torilenth had heard another dragon from further back in time, calling for help. The dragon's distress was due to the fact that he and his rider had become lost in time during the jump forward in time from the beginning of the last Interval, and had somehow wound up on Southern far from his own home and time. The rider had become feverish, nearly losing his mind to the fire-head fever that also nearly took his life and that of his dragon. 

When Sam heard that story, he was a bit suspicious but was soon distracted with other things, like Threadfall. The erratic fall of thread was beginning to take far too much out of the dragonriders of the Southern Weyr, and so Sam left Diaranth to hover over her clutch of eggs and rode with Dean atop Soranth to speak with the Weyrleader and Weyrwoman of Benden. They attempted to and were mostly unsuccessful in charting Threadfall, but Southern Weyr was safer by far than its northern counterparts. The revolting grubs that ate Thread went far in keeping the continent safe, though Sam wished that they had a more secure warning to prevent holders from getting trapped outside when Threadfall came around again. 

It was after the unsuccessful meeting that Lessa asked to see the Oldtimer that K'len had apparently rescued. Sam told the Weyrwoman that she was welcome to visit Southern anytime she wished, but that he would first speak to the bronze rider himself, for he wished to know just what had happened to send him so far from his home time or the time that Lessa had taken the Oldtimers to. There had to be a reason of some sort, after all, that the rider chose to stay where he was... unless what K'len had said was the truth. Overall, it was baffling. 

Dean had already met the dragonrider, and considered the man to be relatively harmless though there was something about him that, as Dean told Sam later that night, set his teeth on end. 

“I don't know if I want you talking to this man, this A'zel,” he told Sam. “There's something wrong with him...” 

Sam laughed softly. “Certainly he can't be that horrible,” he responded, touching Dean's chest as they rested under the furs together in preparation for sleep. “It's not as if he's causing the Thread to fall erratically, or the Red Star to hover so very close to Pern.” 

“Perhaps not,” Dean admitted, “But that doesn't mean that I trust him.” He gestured. “His story about getting lost is nearly impossible to believe, and that worries me. Why is he _here_ , of all places?” 

Sam leaned over his brother and kissed him gently, still loving the fact that he was free to do so. “That is what I plan to find out,” he announced before kissing Dean again. Dean leaned up and deepened the kiss, pulling Sam closer to him and caressing his back. “I shall speak with him in the morning. And I'll take no more grumbling from you, dragon-man.” 

Dean grunted his disapproval, but his lips were warm and soft and loving against Sam's own, so Sam knew that his brother wasn't too angry with him. 

Morning came all too soon for the two lovers. 

____ _ _

When Sam finally met the strange bronze rider, A'zel, he was rather unimpressed. The man was unassuming and rather ordinary, though his eyes were a strange pale color that was somewhere in the vicinity of gold or yellow. His bronze dragon was nowhere in evidence in the Weyr, but A'zel said that he was out on the shore sunbathing. 

“So you are the Queen Rider, then?” A'zel asked, staring in an uncomfortably direct manner into Sam's eyes. 

Sam blinked and had the disconcerting urge to drop his eyes away from the other man. He fought it and nodded. “Yes, I am. And I have a few questions for you, if you intend to stay in Southern Weyr rather than going North to join whichever Weyr you were originally from.” 

A'zel smiled crookedly, his pale eyes glittering in the sunlight. “Yes, I believe I will be staying here.” He gestured at the rich green jungle around them. “It is far more beautiful here than it is up North, as far as I can tell, and if you wouldn't mind, I would like to stay.” 

Sam nodded faintly. “You can stay here as long as you like, though I would appreciate it if you gave me some information about yourself.” 

A'zel nodded, his face turning more serious. “What would you like to know?” 

“Well, let us start with which Weyr you originated from, and work our way from there.” 

But before A'zel had a chance to answer Sam's question, a sharp pain started zinging around in Sam's mind, followed by the sound of what appeared to be thousands of people all talking at once about totally different things. The pain rapidly started to increase, until all Sam could do was lean against a nearby wall and clutch his head. He thought he heard A'zel trying to speak to him, but Sam was unable to comprehend what the other man was saying. He stifled a loud cry of pain and started to slide down the wall, covering his eyes with one hand as his vision started swimming and flashing bright colors. 

Distantly he felt a hand on his shoulder, and just as quickly as it had come, the pain and noise faded to abrupt silence. Sam just sat on the floor, clutching his head in the aftereffects. He finally managed to open his eyes, squinting in what looked like blinding light. Soon, a figure coalesced before him and he was able to recognize A'zel kneeling before him. 

A'zel opened his mouth, but before the other man could say anything, Sam straightened up and snapped testily, “I'm fine. Do not worry about me.” 

“That wasn't what I was going to say,” A'zel answered mildly. Sam peered up at him. 

“Then what were you about to say?” 

“I was about to say,” A'zel spoke slowly, his eyes on Sam, “that I didn't think that such a thing could be passed on down any sort of line.” He stood up. “But apparently I was wrong.” 

Sam looked up at him in confusion. “Passed... down? What do you mean?” 

“I mean when I was your age, the same thing happened to me.” 

_“What?”_

____ _ _

Sam left A'zel's weyr in a daze, his mind struggling to comprehend all that he had been told. It didn't make sense, _couldn't_ make sense... 

Diaranth noticed her rider's distress. _What has happened?_ Sam could feel her flicking through his memories, but for some reason she came up blank. _I do not understand. What has changed in your mind that prevents me from seeing what has caused you distress?_

Sam shivered and headed towards the Hatching Grounds, where his beautiful queen rested with her eggs. He felt so cold inside that the heat of the sands actually felt good against his feet, the steady heat climbing up his legs towards his chest then down his arms. He shivered again. “I don't know.” 

Already his memories were fading away like wisps of smoke. He didn't even make an attempt to catch them before they left his mind. 

With one final violent shake, he returned to himself and his queen. “What was I just about to do?” 

_Come scratch my eye ridge. It itches._

The queen herself had no memory of the strange event either. 

Sam did as he was bidden. 

Later that night, when Dean quizzed Sam on A'zel, all Sam could do was shrug. “He's just a bronze dragonrider. As far as I could tell, his story made sense, so one should assume that he was merely telling us the truth.” 

Dean frowned a bit at the flat way that Sam answered, but didn't say anything. He merely pulled his younger brother to him and wrapped his arms around Sam, feeling the chill in his body. “Why are you so chill to the touch lately?” 

Sam trembled in Dean's arms and tucked his head against Dean's neck. “Too much time _between_ lately?” 

“Perhaps,” Dean agreed absently, rubbing his hands over Sam's arms. “Maybe tomorrow you could join Soranth in sunbathing on the beach?” 

Sam chuckled quietly, pressing a gentle kiss to Dean's neck. “That sounds positively decadent. Perhaps I shall join your bronze, though if he acts like a wherry hen over me we shall have some words.” He pulled away from his brother and raised an eyebrow. “Understand?” 

Dean snickered and nodded. “No henning, yes, we understand.” He pressed a quick kiss to the tip of Sam's nose, causing his younger brother's eyes to cross. 

Once they righted themselves, Sam's eyes narrowed at Dean. “That was far too easy,” he announced, frowning a bit. 

Dean smiled a bit. “I just don't want you being stressed over anything that's happening, is all.” He rested his forehead against Sam's, a bit awkward now that Sam was almost a hand taller. “You haven't had any more of those dizzy spells, right? No bright lights or anything like that?” 

A momentary flicker at the back of Sam's mind catches his attention, but just as quickly as it appeared, it faded away. “No,” Sam said calmly. “Nothing like that has happened recently.” 

“Are you certain?” 

Sam smiled crookedly, and Dean was too busy kissing Sam's neck to see the flicker of yellow across the normal color of Sam's eyes. “Absolutely positive.” 

____ _ _

The next sevenday was spent mostly in a blur for Sam. He spoke constantly with A'zel, but for some reason whenever he tried to remember what was said, he was unable. He didn't let it bother him, though, for he was too distracted by the low throbbing pulse that was always in his head, usually accompanied by quiet whispers and emotions. More and more often his vision would flash, and he would find that when these happened he would return to himself in some other place than where he'd started at. 

He didn't want to worry Dean; some of the younger riders had taken to causing mischief similar to that of the exiled Oldtimers. They would try to force themselves on Crafthalls, trying to claim various crafts for their own in tithings, and on one notable occasion a bronze rider had forced himself into the bed of an unwilling hold woman, causing her so much damage that the poor woman died before the hold's healers even got to her bedchamber. 

Under normal circumstances, if a dragonrider was looking for companionship, he would go for one of the strong-willed women in the Weyr, for dragonfolk held to different rules and orders when it came to bedding than that of holders or craftspeople. A woman in the Weyr had the right to bed whoever she wished, and if she wished to bed no-one, she had that option. For a hold-born woman, however, rules were radically different. They were brought up to raise broods of children, carrying and suckling and raising children until such time as their bodies gave out on them. It was only a recent occurrence for women to be allowed into the Craft halls as harpers or smiths, mostly due to Masterharper Robinton's choice of journeywoman Menolly as his second journeyman. This gave women and girls other choices, for in the craft hall they were valued for their abilities of their craft rather than their abilities to have children, and for that many flocked to the chance to avoid being broodmares. 

Dragonriders, mostly due to the treatment of women in the holds, acted in a very courtly manner towards these unfortunate women, and for any rider, especially a _bronze_ rider to do such a horrendous thing to an unwilling woman... 

Dean was at a loss as to what to do in punishment. He had Sam ask Diaranth to order the bronze dragon away from visiting any holds or crafthalls, and as for the rider... 

He couldn't physically punish the rider, as would be his first option. A lashing would have suited the crime well, leaving the man with whip scars that would be a permanent reminder to what he had done to the woman. Were he to physically punish the man, he would put the rider's dragon at risk for the beast would be maddened by the pain to the point of being uncontrollable. Dragonriders were not supposed to ever do battle with anything other than Thread for that very reason, as their dragons were sacred. 

Dean chose instead to make an example of the rider. The man would be on patrol, constantly for several sevendays. He would only be allowed to sleep a few hours before he would be back on patrol, and he would be shunned by everyone else in the Weyr, from the other dragonriders to the Weyrfolk to the candidates for Diaranth's latest clutch. He would eat by himself, while in the air on patrol, and when he would go in for breakfast he would be given his food to sit at a small uncomfortable table far from the others. 

For some people, humiliation was worse than death. Dean hoped that the rider was one of those people. 

Sam knew this, and he may have taken advantage of his brother's distraction. He didn't want to admit that he was having such difficulties, and would totally prefer it if Dean never found out about them. 

It was pure luck that Dean found out about them within days of dealing with the rider. 

Sam had been breaking his fast in their weyr while Dean went over reports from the other Weyrs about what had been happening on the Northern Continent. Sam had reached out to pluck a dark red berry from the fruit bowl when his vision whited out and the low-grade headache he'd been suffering from for some time suddenly bloomed into the feeling that the Master Smith had taken one of his hammers and slammed it into Sam's head with all the burly man's strength. Sam's hand shot back from the bowl and he clutched at his head, stifling a pained noise. 

The noise was just loud enough to catch Dean's attention. He glanced up and immediately put his reports to the side, standing quickly and approaching Sam's chair. 

“Sammy?” 

Sam tried to smile through the pain. “It's nothing,” he gritted out between clenched teeth. He pushed the heel of his hand into his eyeball, attempting to relieve the pressure but it did no good. The pain intensified beyond what it had ever been before, and Sam crumpled, sliding out of his chair as he clutched his temples. Dean followed him down, kneeling before him and placing a steadying hand on his shoulder. 

“Sam, talk to me.” 

Sam wasn't listening. His vision was doing strange things, and before he totally lost sight of what was going on around him, he reached out to clutch at Dean's tunic. 

The world around him melted away to a scatter shot of images. 

_A golden dragon, soaring over a mountain with two bronzes in hot pursuit -_

_One of the bronzes, a paler color than the other, lashing out and attacking the other bronze -_

_The injured bronze, falling out of the sky while his rider screamed in agony -_

_The bronze winking_ between _, then the other bronze tangling his wings with that of the queen -_

What was happening to him? Sam found himself in bed, the worried thrum of Diaranth's thoughts so close he thought he could touch them. 

_You had a vision_ the queen told him. Her head was blocking the entrance of the weyr, casting the room in shadows. 

“Why are you away from your clutch?” 

“She was worried, Dimglow. You've been unconscious for several hours.” Dean carefully slid between Diaranth's face and the entrance to the weyr. He nearly ran to the bed and pressed a hand against Sam's forehead, his gentle touch belying the insult. 

Sam struggled to sit upright. “Hours? I-” 

\“Here.” A cup was forced under his nose, the smell of laced wine nearly overpowering. Sam tried to push it away, but Dean shoved his hand out of the way and forced it once more into his face. “You will drink this or so help me-” 

Sam drank it slowly, glaring at his brother with frustration. Once he finished the cup, he shoved it away once more and settled back more carefully against the pillows piled around him. “What happened?” 

Dean grimaced. “You apparently had some sort of fit. One minute, you were eating breakfast, the next you were on the floor, screaming something about a bronze killing another bronze.” He touched Sam's forehead again, apparently checking for fever. Sam batted his hand away irritably. “What in creation have you been up to, to give you such wild thoughts?” 

Diaranth snorted, causing a small wind. _Tell him. Tell him what you saw._

Sam glared at her. “I must have been imagining things, or something. I don't know why I'd say such nonsense.” 

Diaranth's eyes flashed amber for a moment before she pulled her head out of the doorway and walked to the clearing, her irritated wingbeats heard over Dean's curious query about the queen's temper. 

A second head, this one a bit smaller, blocked the light. _You should tell him the truth_. The thought came through clearly as if Sam was being spoken to by someone in the room with them. Soranth's eyes whirled with color, occasionally glinting. 

Sam leveled a glare at the interfering bronze. He ignored the words, deciding that he was once again imagining things. 

_No, this disbelief has gone on enough._ The bronze's words were firm. _You can hear me, and pretending you cannot is only going to cause more trouble. You are not insane, and nor have you ever been. Now, if you don't tell Dean, then I will and you will not like it if I have to be the one to tell him._

Sam glared darkly one more time at the bronze, and the beast snorted at him. Sam sighed. “I saw something.” 

Dean stiffened and he turned from his dragon. He had been staring with confusion at Soranth's behavior, but at Sam's words his attention was immediately elsewhere. “Saw something? What do you mean?” 

“Those things I said... I was seeing it happen. It was a queen in mating flight, and there were only two bronzes following her. One of the bronzes attacked the other and killed him.” Sam shivered, his hairs on his arms and the back of his neck standing upright. 

“A bronze... killed another bronze?” Dean's voice was barely a whisper. His eyes were wide with disbelief, but at an encouraging croon from Soranth his eyes regained focus. “Did you recognize any of the dragons?” 

Sam shook his head. “All I know is that the bronze that attacked was a lighter color than that of the other bronze. Other than that, I don't remember anything clearly.” He gnawed on his lower lip, then continued hesitantly. “Dean. I've been... seeing things. Missing time. I...” He took a deeper breath, then straightened, avoiding his brother's eyes. “I'm starting to get worried.” 

“Starting?” Dean's voice was shriller than usual with alarm. “Sear the skin, Sammy, I've _been_ worried. First the headaches, and now this?” He wrapped Sam tightly in his arms, pressing his cheek against Sam's shoulder. “How am I supposed to keep you safe from this?” 

Sam tried to draw back but Dean's grip held firm. “You're not _supposed_ to keep me safe from anything,” he snapped testily. “I can take care of myself, I'll have you know.” 

Dean snorted. “Oh, yeah, I can really see you're taking good care of yourself Sammy.” He gestured at the bed and Sam muttered something rude. “Shards, Sam, I just want you safe.” 

Sam sighed and tried to relax into his brother's hold. “Well, I can still take care of myself. Just because I haven't been too successful at it lately doesn't mean-” 

“I know, I know,” Dean said in an irritatingly soothing voice. “This is just a setback, right? Nothing to be too alarmed about.” 

Sam wished he believed him. 

The next day, Sam and Dean heard that a bronze dragon had been killed during a mating flight at Ista Weyr. 

__

“-Dean, I could have _done_ something, _told_ somebody that-” 

“That what, you're having visions of the future? And who would believe you? We didn't know that something would actually _happen_ , Sam. And there's no way that we could have, anyway. We weren't sure, and you didn't recognize the dragons. It could have been any number of them, at any Weyr. It just happened to be Ista.” 

Sam paced furiously. “I should have tried harder to remember details. I should have-” 

Dean stood directly in front of him and grabbed his face firmly. “Sam. There was nothing you could have done to change what happened.”

Sam tried to pry himself away, wanting to pace some more. “Then what was the point of having that vision to begin with if there was no way that I could do something about it?” 

Dean didn't have anything to say about that. He just sighed and rested his forehead against Sam's. “Well, it's too late now to do anything.” 

“What if I went back, _between_ times? Maybe then-” 

“Sam, _no_. I will not have you risking yourself or your queen in such a way.” 

Diaranth bugled at Sam's anger. “Then what am I supposed to do, Dean? Just sit here and do _nothing_? I can't – I _won't_ just sit by and-” 

“That is exactly what you _will_ do, Sam, because to do otherwise would put you and your precious Diaranth at risk. Would you have her leave her clutch so close to hatching?” Dean's tone turned pleading. “Would you do something that would leave Soranth and I alone without you both?” 

The words and the thought that they provoked stunned Sam. The idea of being without Dean, without his brother's warm touch and gentle love- 

He shivered with horror. The idea of going back in time and fixing what had happened faded from his mind. 

“No,” he breathed, stepping close to Dean and wrapping his arms tightly around his brother's waist. “No, never- I _can't_ even-” 

Dean clutched back just as hard. A voice intruded on Sam's thoughts. 

_We would both be lost without you. Remember that._

Sam trembled all the more with the emotions imbued in those words. He clung to his brother. “I won't-” 

He felt Dean start to relax slowly. “Good. I don't even want to think about what would happen if-” Dean shuddered. “Okay, we can't think about that any more. There's nothing we can do about what's happened. Besides,” he added as he slowly extricated himself from Sam, “if anyone was supposed to go back and fix it, we wouldn't have even heard of it happening, right? So what has happened, was supposed to happen, for some reason or another. In which case, we deal with it.” 

“Right,” Sam said softly, thoughts still on the horror of being without his brother. 

“Right.” Dean rubbed his hands together and looked up into Sam's eyes with a faint smirk. “Any idea what we're having for dinner?”

Sam stifled a hysterical laugh. “I have no idea whatsoever.” 

“Then how about we go and find out?” 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

Of course, it wasn't really that easy to continue on as if nothing had happened. Sam's headaches and vision problems faded for a while, and he didn't have any more instances of missing memory for a few sevendays. He began to hope that they would stop permanently, but he wasn't so lucky. 

He ran into A'zel on one of the cleared trails leading to the kitchen several sevendays after the death of the bronze (Kirilanth, whose rider M'ax committed suicide within hours of his dragon's passing _between_ ), and as if the floodgates had been breached, Sam suffered more headaches and blackouts than he had ever had, all within the course of two sevendays. 

Dean cajoled and pleaded and finally threatened Sam into sending for Master Oldive, and the old Healer prescribed a powder that Sam was supposed to take as soon as he felt the beginnings of another headache. For his missing memories, Oldive could do nothing except suggest Sam keep some sort of record and find out how many time it happened over the course of time, what sort of things he ate and how much he slept to see if there was a connection somewhere. 

Sam wasn't sure that there _was_ a connection to anything in particular. All he knew was that he was rapidly losing what remained of his mind. 

He didn't tell anyone that the voices were getting louder again, and that sometimes it took all his strength to not simply run or fly as far away from the Weyr as he could get and never stop running until he died. If Dean knew he was having such thoughts, Sam feared what his reaction would be. He desperately didn't want Dean to find out, even though Sam had the sinking feeling that Dean would find out only far too soon. 

Sam also had a feeling that the voices he was hearing? Were coming from outside sources. He couldn't tell if they were other dragons or humans, but he was sure – hopeful – that they weren't coming from inside his own mind. 

_Of course it's not just your own mind you're hearing_ Diaranth would tell him as she carefully rolled her rapidly-hardening eggs. _You are not mad, or I would not be your dragon. My kind has no tolerance for madness._

Sam stifled a laugh and continued listening to the Headwoman list off the missing rations. He schooled his face into a neutral expression. It wouldn't do for the Headwoman to think that he didn't consider missing food an important matter. 

“It's the fifth time within the past two turns that things have turned up missing. I'm really starting to get worried, especially since several of the missing cases are of Southern wine, and that was supposed to be sent off to Igon.” 

Sam nodded. “I shall speak to the Weyrleader about this. It has been going on for far too long, and so help me if there are weyrlings responsible for this mischief...” he trailed off meaningfully. The Headwoman nodded. 

“I don't think it's the weyrlings, but I could be mistaken, sir. If too much else turns up missing, especially of the items meant to be sent up North, I don't know what will happen to our reputation.” 

“You make a very good point, Headwoman Ava. I will see what I can do about the matter. Thank you for telling me.” 

The Headwoman nodded, her youthful face worried. Ever since the previous Headwoman had retired into her own chambers due to old age, the younger woman had been working hard at keeping the Weyr running smoothly. Sam hoped that Headwoman Ava wouldn't wear herself down to the bone with her new responsibilities. 

As Sam turned from the woman, his mind puzzled over the missing food and wine again. What could be causing so much trouble in such a form? 

__

As if something was waiting inside Sam's mind for a trigger, his visions and headaches and the voices in his mind all reached an apex the day that Diaranth's clutch hatched. The cacophonous noise and excitement from everyone present at the hatching proved to be a breaking point, and as the little queen hatched and made her way purposefully towards a tall red-headed young woman, Sam felt something _tear_ in his mind like netting around a captured beast. 

Everything was _loud_ and then Sam's vision flickered and jumped forward a few minutes later, to see one of the other queen candidates lunge for the red-headed woman's throat, a shining blade in her hand. Sam's vision jerked and then there was blood, human blood, the blood of a new queen dragonrider and then the little queen shrieked and Diaranth raised her mighty head and tore the attacker to shreds with her teeth and- 

Sam's scream ripped through the expectant pause as everyone's eyes were on the little queen as she waddled towards her weyrmate. As the spectators turned as one to stare at him, he heard Dean's frantic calling, but Diaranth was answering her rider's panic. 

Diaranth rose with a loud bellow and slammed her clawed foreleg down, hissing with fury and trapping the woman with the knife before she could get to the new queen rider in her paw. 

Diaranth had seen. Diaranth had known. She would not allow her new daughter to be lost so easily. 

Sam leaped down from the stands, a virtual blur as he ran to the trapped and huddled girl. She was crying, panicked at being caught between the huge claws of the infuriated queen dragon. As Sam approached, Diaranth hissed again and spread her claws a bit so that Sam could get to the girl and grab her and _shake_ her. 

” _How dare you,_ ” he yelled. “Try to take the life of a queen rider at the moment of Impression.” He yanked the knife out of the girl's hand and flung it across the Hatching Ground, where the tip buried itself in the hot sands. “Would you have a new-born queen go _between_? Or are you so foolish as to think you could Impress the little queen if her rider died at the moment their minds meld?” He shook the sobbing girl hard, then flung her to the sands. 

A nearby brown rider came into view at the corner of Sam's eye and he gestured to her. “Tie her wrists and ankles together and put her somewhere out of my sight. We will deal with her after the feast. Have some of the older weyrlings watch her.” The brown rider nodded and sent for rope before approaching the girl. He hauled her to her feet and yanked her from the Hatching ground, accompanied by several weyrlings. The new weyrlings watched the girl being taken out with shock, clinging to their new weyrmates. 

Sam noticed only then that most of the stands around the Hatching Grounds had been cleared, and that Dean was approaching him with something like awe on his face. “Sammy?” he whispered, “How did you know that girl had a knife?” The question was hypothetical. Sam could tell from the look on his brother's face that he knew exactly how Sam had known. 

Sam couldn't quite bring himself to say it, so he simply grabbed onto his brother and clung, hard. “How could something like this have happened?” he breathed against Dean's shoulder. 

Dean clung back just as hard, his arms tight around Sam's back and waist. “I have no idea, baby brother, but we're going to find out.” 

“Starting with that girl,” Sam said determinedly. “Who Searched her out? Where is she from? How did she get a _knife_ on the Hatching Ground?” 

“Exactly. We'll find out when we speak to her, but first,” Dean pressed a kiss to Sam's forehead. “First, we eat. Then we'll figure out the rest.” He drew back and Sam let him after a quick press of lips to one another. “I wonder if they've any fresh bubbly pies just out of the oven?” 

Sam laughed softly, distracted for the moment from the trials of the day. “Even though it's near hot enough to roast a wherry outside, you want hot bubbly pies. Have you been spending too much time _between_ lately, brother-mine?” 

“I have no idea what you're talking about.” Dean's look was of offended innocence. Sam smiled at his brother and slapped him on the back as they turned towards the entrance of the Hatching Ground. 

They never noticed the eyes that followed them as they tangled their fingers together and walked to the feast. 

__

The girl with the knife was named Meg, and she claimed to have no idea what had happened. The last thing that she had remembered was putting on the white robe that was standard for an Impression candidate to wear, then finding herself caught in Diaranth's grasp. She was desperate to prove her innocence, confused and terrified with no idea what had happened. Sam thought she was lying, but Dean... 

He... believed her. Sam didn't understand _why_ his brother believed the girl, but for some reason he did and as frustrated as Sam was by it, he let Dean's decision to have the girl working in the kitchens where the weyr could keep an eye on her stand. 

Meg had come from Benden Hold, one of a couple of girls and boys who had come from holds other than those on the Southern continent. Sam wondered if there was a connection between where she came from and what had happened, but he was unsure about the whole matter. Nonetheless, he watched the slight brown-haired girl obsessively, waiting for her to slip and show her some of her more malignant qualities. It frustrated him to no end that he didn't manage to catch her being anything but a sweet young woman that was trying to make up for something she didn't even understand. 

Meg wasn't the only thing frustrating Sam, however. He was now constantly hearing chatter in his mind from various sources, though he was beginning to realize that not all of what was said came from the dragons. It took accidentally listening in on Headwoman Ava's internal monologue about how she planned to string up the culprit responsible for the missing goods before he finally understood that his hearing wasn't limited, like weyrwomen of the past, to dragonkind. He could hear people, as well. 

Desperation drove him to spending more time with A'zel, attempting to learn how to block the noise of others and find inner peace. A'zel also taught him how to filter thoughts so he could focus on one mind at a time. 

It took time, but eventually Sam was able to focus on a single mind not his own or his dragon's: Dean's. Sam found comfort in his brother's mind, the calm focus that Dean had for whatever he was doing, and when they made love to one another there was little in the world that Sam had ever found that felt as good as knowing exactly what and how to drive his brother to new heights of pleasure. 

It was after one such instance that Sam told Dean what was happening, about the telepathy. Dean didn't react too well to what Sam had to say. 

“So, what, you're living in other people's heads now? Reading their minds like scrolls?” Dean jerked free of Sam's grasp and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling a fur around his shoulders as if suddenly chilled. “And you've been in my head, clearly. I should've known-” 

Sam felt his brother draw back from him emotionally and reacted immediately with fear. “Dean, no, don't-” 

“Don't what? Try to block you out? Sam, this isn't a _good_ thing that you can do! What if you learn how to control people's thoughts?” 

Sam was horrified at the thought. “I would _never_ do such a thing!” He spoke with so much vehemence that Dean paused as he pulled on his tunic. 

Dean stared at him hard. “Swear it. Swear on it by Diaranth's eggshell.” Sam was shocked, but complied. 

“I swear by the egg that Diaranth hatched from that I would never control anyone's thoughts. I'll swear by the first egg of Faranth as well, if you'd like.” 

Dean sighed and took the tunic back off, settling again beside Sam. “I don't like that this is happening to you,” he said softly. “It worries me, and I can't do anything to help you, either.” 

“Dean, you're the only reason I'm still _sane_ ,” Sam whispered, barely above a breath. He rested his head against Dean's shoulder. “I don't want to think about what it would be like without you beside me.” 

“You'd lose your mind.” Dean's answer was flippant, but he wrapped his arm snugly around Sam's shoulders. “But it's not going to come to that because I'm not leaving you alone, do you hear me?” 

Sam smiled weakly and nodded. 

The next day, Sam left the weyr with Diaranth with intentions of never coming back. 

He wasn't entirely certain why he was going or where, but some strong impulse led him through collecting food, clothing, and other useful things. He stored everything in a few sacks, strapped them to Diaranth's sides, climbed up and settled on her back carefully. Without a signal of any sort, they rose into the air and went _between_. 

When they came out of the frozen cold nothingness of _between_ , Sam found himself hovering over a part of the Southern continent he wasn't sure he recognized. The only reason he was certain it was Southern was because of the lushness of the vegetation he could easily see, even from Diaranth's back. It was far too green to be the Northern continent. 

Other than that, he had no idea of where he was. 

... The time _between_ had been quite long, however. He had frost on his nose and his teeth clattered together painfully, and his hands felt frozen to the straps of Diaranth's harness. 

“Diaranth? Where are we?” 

_Where you directed me to go,_ came the implacable response. 

“My love, I didn't direct us to go _anywhere_.” 

_Yes you did. Your image was very clear, to right here, and so here we are._

Dragon wings exploded a scarce dragonlength above Sam's head, and an older bronze streaked from above down to a small clearing that Sam could see far below. Without any signal, Diaranth followed the bronze, landing gracefully a few dragonlengths beyond where the bronze rider was dismounting. 

It was A'zel. 

“Sam, so good of you to join us.” 

“A'zel, what is going on? What are we doing here?” 

A'zel chuckled, his eyes flashing a pale gold similar to the color of Diaranth's hide. “Why, don't you know? We've been expecting you for a while now.” 

“Expecting me?” 

A'zel stepped beside Diaranth and offered a hand up. Sam accepted his assistance and slid down Diaranth's side. “Yes, we've been expecting you. Mind,” A'zel continued thoughtfully, “We had rather expected you to be a girl.” He shrugged. “But it doesn't matter, as Meg was meant for your brother in case he showed abilities. She will act as your bedmate quite happily.” He glanced over his shoulder towards the edge of the clearing. “Won't you, Meg?” 

When the girl stepped out of the shadows and into the noonday's light, Sam saw that her eyes were solid black, without any white or color present at all. “Of course, Father. We will make strong children, fit and powerful and unstoppable.” 

__

It was Soranth's panicked call that alerted Dean to Sam's disappearance. 

_I cannot hear Diaranth or Sam_ the dragon sent, along with all of his worry and fear for his mate and her rider. 

“What? That's impossible,” Dean said, even as he felt a rush of cold travel from the top of his spine to his feet. “Where could they have gone that would prevent you from hearing even an echo?” 

_I do not know._ Dean could hear Soranth's wings beat hard as the dragon flew directly for him. He found himself running, then suddenly he jumped and caught at Soranth's sharp claw as the dragon caught himself before he plowed into the ground. Dean pulled himself atop Soranth's back and they were immediately high in the air, bugling alarm. The other dragons responded in kind, their alarm driving their riders from whatever they'd been doing to a hasty wing formation in the air. 

Before Dean had a chance to order Soranth to send the other dragons searching for his missing brother, a green dragon burst into the air above his head. 

_Unscheduled Threadfall at Ista_ Soranth reported. _All of the Weyrs are asked to assist, as both Igen and Ista are short several wings and the Fall looks to be far larger than usual_. 

Dean snarled in frustration and made a snap decision. “G'don, take the fighting wings to Ista and assist as much as you can!” he yelled across the distance between himself and his Wingsecond. 

_He asks what you are going to be doing,_ Soranth told him. 

“Tell him I've something else urgent to do that requires all of my focus and that I trust him to lead the wings and lead them well.” Dean saw the dark skinned man nod and fit his goggles over his eyes. “We're going back in timed jumps, ten turns to start. Listen hard for any echoes of either one of them. Hopefully they've not gone back to the last Fall.” 

Dean and Soranth went _between_ and seconds later, the fighting wings did as well. While the fighting dragons came out a mere three heartbeats later, the cold of _between_ held onto Dean and Soranth for much longer. 

The lone dragon and his rider exploded into the air above the little weyr that Sam had made for them, ten years in the past. There was nothing there. Soranth listened, bellowed once in frustration, and then they disappeared again. 

On and on it went, first with ten year jumps, then fifteen. Before long, Dean was clinging to the fighting straps that kept him on Soranth's back, nauseous and cold and fearful for his brother. 

The further back they went, the more Dean worried that his brother and his dragon's mate were lost. Then, after the twenty-second jump Soranth caught a faint echo from further back, the reassuring sound of Diaranth's mind. Before the final jump back to them, Soranth hesitated. 

_Something is wrong_ he reported to his rider. Dean shivered and tried to unstick his hands from around the Wherhide straps. 

“What is it?” 

_First we eat, before you fall off my back_ between _. Then we will find out what has happened._ The bronze beast started to circle a nearby clearing, landing carefully so as not to jar his rider. 

Dean nearly fell off Soranth's back as he struggled down. His legs ached and he couldn't feel his nose, and clearly he needed the break just as badly as Soranth apparently did. He felt his dragon's mind as the great bronze took flight, finding a wild herd of wherries and quickly taking two down in quick succession. As Dean grabbed a bright red fruit from a nearby vine, he was surprised to feel the bronze blooding his kill, rather than eating the large fowl's innards with normal draconian gusto. 

“What are you doing, you crazy beast?” Dean called. His only answer was the satisfied slurping of his dragon. 

... Certainly Diaranth wasn't about to rise to mate, right? She wasn't due to rise for another few months, at least. She had, after all, only recently had her eggs hatching. 

How long had Sam been back this far in time, though? Long enough to be close to mating? 

This thought spurred Dean into motion. He quickly ate his fruit and snatched another, eating as quickly as possible without upsetting his stomach. He would need the energy, just as Soranth would. 

Why would Sam have his queen so far back in time, to the point where there would be no nearby bronzes to fly her? 

It did not matter, for Dean was coming. He felt Soranth strike and kill another wherry, speeding up his own feeding. They both needed to be ready. 

Soon enough, Soranth was rising from the scattered corpses of wherries and flying to him and then they were once again airborne and then winking _between_. 

__

Sam was lost in his own mind, unsure of what was real and what was not, or how much time had passed. The only constant in his mind was the chaos and the dimmed sound of Diaranth's mind. It went on and on and on and then suddenly the chaos was drowned out by the sudden fury and _hunger_ blazing in Diaranth's mind. 

Something registered in Sam, and he knew what was happening. Diaranth was raising to mate. She was going to fly, and Dean wasn't here so Soranth wouldn't be the one to fly her, but Sam didn't want any other dragon having even the opportunity to- 

_This time, my sweet bronze darling, this time you will fly her and you will win her-_

_Make sure to be right in the middle of it, whatever happens. You should get his seed while he's amidst the mating flight-_

_He's too old to fly as fast or as far as you can with barely any effort, Torilenth, and we both know it. We will finally have what we-_

Diaranth's fury suddenly combined with Sam's own until something shredded in Sam's mind. His eyes snapped open and he realized he was standing before the bathing room mirror that Meg loved so ever since she'd dyed her hair that pale white blonde and cut it shorter than most queen riders had theirs. He glanced up into his own eyes and saw blackness retreat until they were clear and their natural color. 

Sam didn't understand why his eyes had done that, but it did not matter as Diaranth was headed for the smallish group of herd beasts a hundred dragonlengths away. He dropped the cloth he had for some reason been holding and started running towards Diaranth in an eerie echo of her first flight. 

She would not be flown by anyone but Soranth. She would need to fly fast and hard and far and always be out of reach of those wretched bronzes that were already watching her take down a large buck. Sam didn't even need to direct her or control what she was doing, for she immediately went for the beast's throat and began draining the corpse of blood. She did not want either of the bronzes here, anyway, and she would make it as impossible as she could for the beasts. 

They would not fly her. 

Diaranth drained corpse after corpse, saving up as much energy as possible before she leaped into the air and blazed a brilliant, startling _gold_ , far brighter than the last time she'd risen to mate. Sam was dazzled by her color, but even as she was flying quickly away, the bronzes in fast pursuit, he was being hustled into the small weyr that had been built for him. 

His eyes finally lost contact with his beautiful queen and then he noticed that he was being pushed onto his bed, furs hastily shoved out of the way. Before he could demand to know what was happening, Diaranth's mind distracted him from the outside world. 

_They will never catch me_ the queen shrieked in defiance, and Sam found himself echoing her thoughts, arching his back as he rode out her emotions. He returned to his body and discovered that his wrists were tied above his head, his legs tied to the other end of the bed. He roared his fury, so angry that Diaranth was momentarily distracted from her own flight in fear that Sam had been injured. 

Torilenth passed too close to Diaranth and her focus was back on the flight, darting out of the reach of the bronze's neck. 

Sam tried to fight the bonds but was overwhelmed by his queen's mind in mating flight. He could not focus enough to realize that his body was being manipulated, forced to respond to outside stimuli. He didn't realize that the girl Meg was sitting on the edge of the bed, stroking him like a favored pet. He didn't notice the two bronze riders standing over him, swaying with their own involvement in the flight. 

All he felt and saw was Diaranth, flying as hard and fast as she could, swerving wildly to avoid the bronzes. They raged together, determined not to let either one of them be claimed by these inferior suitors. 

There was an explosion of sound as another dragon exploded into the air above the little weyr. Another bronze? Who-? 

_I am here. We are with you_ came the beloved bellow of Soranth's mental voice. Diaranth warbled in joy at her mate's appearance and swung back towards her bronze, being careful to avoid a sudden movement towards her by Torilenth. She shrieked her defiance at the younger bronze, taking a swipe at his muzzle with a sharp talon. 

There was shouting in the weyr, and Sam opened his eyes to see Dean fighting with A'zel and K'len. Meg was still by his side, paying no attention at all to the fighting dragonriders. 

“It's already too late,” the young woman said. She smiled and her eyes glinted like slick oil. 

Roaring with rage, Dean finally managed to knock K'len unconscious with a sharp blow to the head. A'zel crouched nearby, his belt knife in his hand. 

Something in Sam's mind snapped, and then the bonds around his wrists and ankles were aflame before suddenly disintegrating. He grabbed Meg by her hair and shoved her out of his way, fighting the urge to tear her hand off for touching him in such a manner. 

Before he could move towards his brother, however, a force slammed into his chest and flung him back on the bed. When he could breathe again, he saw Dean pinned to the wall by _air_. 

Too much was happening at once. The dragons were still flying high and fast, and Sam couldn't move from the bed no matter how he strained, and A'zel was approaching Dean with a far too smug expression on his face, and where was Meg? 

On the other side of the bed, apparently, as she slid over his hips without blocking his view of his brother pinned like some insect by something he couldn't see. 

“Down, boy,” A'zel said, and somehow used his power – for that had to be what it was that was trapping the brothers where they were – to crack the back of Dean's head against the wall. Dean slumped, only vertical because of A'zel's power. 

Sam's rage rose and tried to engulf him. He strained all the harder, trying to get away from the girl astride him and get his hands around A'zel's throat. This wasn't right, couldn't be happening - 

A'zel laughed. “It's happening, Sammy. And we're finally going to get what we want, aren't we?” He gave Dean's body a disinterested look. “Better than being trapped with a needy, desperate sack of herdbeast dung like this thing.” He prodded Dean's leg and the younger man slumped to the floor, unconscious. “You know he's fathered a couple of weyrbrats, right? Enjoys visiting the lower caverns at Benden on occasion. There's a pretty little cook there, named Cassie. Before Diaranth rose to mate they were thinking about becoming weyrmates, even though the girl's not got a dragon of her own.” 

Sam felt sick to his stomach. A'zel had to be lying, there was no way that Dean- 

“Don't be blind, Sam.” A'zel walked away from Dean's form and leaned over the bed, peering at Sam's face. “Even you can't be that naïve.” He cocked his head to the side. “Not all those visits to Benden for counsel were of the sort that would have led to treaties, after all. Shards,” the man continued, his pale yellow eyes glinting strangely, “it's not as if he was exactly _willing_ to bed you, after all. He wanted to have a family, like your father had before you were born and your mother died. Dragon riding? Well, that's only the second, maybe even third best thing. How does it feel to be low on the priorities list?” 

“You're lying,” Sam breathed through the tightness in his chest. It was impossible that the man was telling the truth, absolutely impossible. Sam had _seen inside_ Dean's mind, knew his brother's feelings for him. How could A'zel be spouting this ridiculousness? 

“Why would I bother lying?” A'zel grinned. “He doesn't know how else to keep his family close to him.” He gave Dean's body a scornful look. 

“Why-” 

“Why am I doing this to you?” A'zel laughed and leaned down over Sam's face. “Because you're my blood, you and your worthless brother. You were the success of the litter, the prize. I suppose it makes sense that, at the cost of such a power as you, the other child born from your mother and father would be so... ordinary.” 

The triumphant shriek of one of the dragons outside distracted A'zel enough for his bonds to loosen. Sam slammed all his strength into escaping the grip, and then he was free for a second, long enough to grab A'zel's knife that he'd so carelessly held by his side. He tried to stab the man in the chest, the belly, anywhere to get him away and _gone_ , but A'zel's attention snapped back to him and the knife fell uselessly out of Sam's hand. 

Diaranth's rage tore Sam's attention from what was happening around him and he saw through his mind's eye as A'zel's old bronze somehow fouled up Diaranth's wings, causing her to start to fall. A vision snapped behind Sam's eyes and he saw the triumphant bronze lock around Diaranth in a mating embrace, saw himself and A'zel locked together in a similar state, and the sight so enraged him that he demanded of Diaranth what no other rider had dared to demand of their precious dragons. 

_Diaranth, KILL HIM_. 

A'zel heard the mental call and stared down at Sam in horror. Diaranth reacted immediately to her rider's powerful order, and she shrieked in agreement. She and Sam were too wound up in each other to not have a bleeding through of emotions at the best of times, and now was the worst. Their entanglement gave Diaranth the ability to _hate_. 

The twisted rage that both the rider and the dragon felt battled against the instinct of the queen dragon, defeating the mating urge with the urge to destroy that which threatened her and her rider. Her talons raked across the old bronze's throat and Diaranth pulled free of the bronze's grip. With a shriek of rage she dove at the bronze, beating him with her wings and then grabbing at his throat with her fang-filled mouth. 

The smaller bronze didn't stand a chance. 

They winked _between_. As Diaranth returned alone, A'zel let out a low moan. His power abruptly lost hold of Sam and the younger man watched as A'zel crumpled. Meg screamed, still atop Sam's waist, and as Sam watched in amazement something like black smoke poured out of her mouth into the air, dissipating as if it had never been there. 

Meg slumped against Sam's chest, unconscious. Sam shoved the girl out of his way and nearly tripped over the huddled form of A'zel in his determination to get to his brother. He fell to his knees before Dean and touched him lightly. 

“Dean?” 

Dean didn't stir. Sam shook his brother, desperate. “Dean? Dean, wake up, please-” 

In the back of his mind he noticed that the mating emotions were gone. Diaranth's strength was waned, and she landed with a tired thump, the mating incomplete and thoroughly over. 

The rest of his mind was screaming for the reassuring feel of his brother's mind. 

_He hurts_ came Soranth's worried voice in his mind. The bronze wearily landed next to Diaranth, letting the queen rest her slender neck on his shoulders. _He cannot hear me. He is lost in his own mind. I do not know what to do._

Sam let out a worried moan and pulled his brother into his lap, feeling for wetness on the back of his head. The skull was so fragile, so easily damaged. He remembered Kylara and shuddered. The woman had purposefully slammed her head into a stone wall after her queen went Between until she had broken her skull, and while she still lived, Kylara was very much dead. If that happened to Dean, that same damage- 


	2. Useful Info About Pern

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally going in the beginning notes for the story itself, but, eh. Kinda stupid long for notes.

Okay, here are some key things not really explained in the story:  
\- Thread is a non-sentient /thing/ that eats carbon-based lifeforms. It comes from a rogue planet (called the Red Star) that sometimes comes in range of Pern on an elliptical orbit, coming in range roughly every 200 years and hanging out in range of Pern for about 50 years. It falls like rain, and the only things that successfully kill it dead (and keep it from killing all the things) are fire and the strange grubs genetically engineered to eat it. Cold can also kill it but it's gotta be, like sub-zero.  
\- Waaaay back in the past, shortly after humans landed and settled on Pern they experienced the first Threadfall, and the only things that kept casualties down were the little dragonets/fire lizards that had psychically bonded to the humans eating a special rock that made them belch fire. Geneticists modified the little beasts to make bigger beasts, that they of course called dragons, who bonded strongly with psychically gifted young men and women and, while the female dragons couldn't spit fire without becoming sterile, the humans adapted flamethrowers for use in the air and in combat.  
\- The dragonriders also discovered their partners had the same ability to jump between (a lightless, airless space that can kill if stayed in too long) as their ancestors, which freezes the Thread to dust. Then they discovered that the dragons could also jump between times, which is something only done at the most extreme of times because a) it's tricky as hell to get good coordinates (because a rider has to be able to visualize where they need to be), b) the farther the jump, the longer the rider and dragon are in between (which causes damage all by itself), and c) if the jump is made and the rider crosses his/her own timeline (like, jumping back to watch yourself grow up), it really fucks with the rider's mind and can kinda drive them crazy.  
\- One crazy-assed and desperate as hell dragonrider re-discovered and did it within a few years of the time this fic takes place - Lessa of Benden. Short story: Thread stopped falling for about four hundred years (a long interval) there was one weyr left, the dragons and riders were suuper unloved and then boom! Thread said 'ohai' and because there were so few dragons (and also a strange song Lessa had to learn - the Questioning Song mentioned in the story) Lessa thought it meant she had to jump back in time to right at the beginning of the long interval and... encourage as many dragonriders as possible from that time to jump forward with her, to her time. When headed forward in time they did staggered jumps, using the Red Star's place in the sky as guidance.  
\- The riders who came forward in time with Lessa are called Old Timers, and have Opinions about how a weyr (what a group of dragons, their riders, and the people who live with them) should be run and how dragonriders should be treated, and by the time this fic takes place many of them have either already died or been exiled to the Southern continent, which had been abandoned by the original colonists but thoughtfully seeded with the Thread-eating grubs so the Old Timers pretty much laze around being assholes.  
\- When a dragon is Impressed, who his or her rider was before usually doesn't matter all that much. They can come from crafthalls, holds (where non-dragon folk generally live), or weyrs, but once that dragon bonds they are eternally paired together unless there is Tragedy. A rider's dragon surpasses everyone in importance, up to and including lovers, family and even children sometimes, which is one of the things that make Sam and Dean damned weird for the already-weird dragonfolk. But Diaranth and Soranth give zero shits, so everyone's happy.

**Author's Note:**

> And that's all she wrote. Um. If there is any interest in my finishing this, I probably will, though at the moment I've no damned clue as to where I was going from here. Because of course I don't have any notes, or anything useful like that. 
> 
> I also know that I saw a tense change SOMEWHERE but I was in the throes of wrangling coding and promptly forgot where it was.


End file.
